


Abandon hope, all ye who enter here

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Fic, Kink, Naughtiness, OLHTS made me do it, frankly I have no idea how weird this could get, wherein my friends are a terrible influence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 24,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: A potentially-soon-to-be collection of one shots for the OLHTS discord's weekly crack challenge :)
Comments: 573
Kudos: 300
Collections: The Not-Very-Nice and Anatomically-Inaccurate Prophecies of OLHTS





	1. Index of Prompts/Chapters

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this will be crack. No, I won't apologise :)

Thought I better actually put a list of chapters and their corresponding prompts for people who may be venturing in for the first time. It is long and varied :D It will also be updated when I either add a new chapter or remember to do it

  * [In Vino Ansem Dederunt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/56426059) – Effort Catastrophies
  * [Conversation Piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/56731213) – Eggs
  * [Particular Pleasures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/57062362) \- heaven/hell HOs get some interesting paperwork about the actions of an angel and a demon
  * [Playing By The Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/57406639) – Board games
  * [Playing With Yourself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/57760891) – Boredom (specifically lockdown inspired)
  * [Literally](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/58135360) – Misadventures with technology
  * [Warlock-Blocked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/58486474) – The Dowlings
  * [Sneksual Healing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/58819444) – Travel
  * [Belles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/59131417) – celebrating Pride months with humans
  * [Smashing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/59489779) – Accidental Discorporation
  * [TADA!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/59809789) – Aziraphale’s Magic Act
  * [The Labour of One's Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/60179302) – Housework
  * [Making a Hash of Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/60521362) – Drugs
  * [Oooh-wee-wooooo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/61241497) – Behind the Couch
  * [Foreshadowing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/61617613) – Prophecies
  * [A Touch of the Divine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/62013406) – “you shall have no other Gods before me”
  * [Poor Life Choices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/62749264) – The Antichrist
  * [Keeping Abreast of Fashion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/63100675) – clothes and clothing mishaps
  * [Bird-Brained](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/63456280) – Staying in touch while apart
  * [Roll of the Dice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/63818341) – D&D/Roleplay
  * [Divine Inspiration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/64202857) – (can’t remember what this one was)
  * [Old-Fashioned Birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/64435261) – Birthday edition for the server’s anniversary
  * [Curriculum Vitae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/64851346) – Work
  * [Refresher Training](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/65135323) – Supervisors and Bosses
  * [Far From The Tree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/65570626) – The Them
  * [Greenfingered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/65892391) – Tentacles
  * [An Extra Set of Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/66225868) – Clones
  * [A Tight Squeeze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/66478999) – Tiny
  * [Fresh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/66840316) – That’s Not How You Use…
  * [Hung Up On The Details](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/67178110) – Pegging
  * [Saucy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/67506488) – Sauces
  * [The Grand Tour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/68066734) – IKEA
  * [Constructive Criticism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/68476346) – Summoning
  * [And a Cushion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/69161148) – Inappropriate Christmas Gifts
  * [Arise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/69561147) – Zombies
  * [Treat You Like a Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/70090881) – Roleplay/Historical
  * [42](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/70356792) – Alpha Centauri or Good Omens in Space
  * [Crank Call](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/70738980) – Prayer
  * [Balancing the Books](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/71136186) – Reporting to Head Office
  * [A Little Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/71535054) – Wall Slam
  * [The Perfect Gift](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/72178557) – Love Tokens
  * [Harrowing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527132/chapters/72520722) – Possession




	2. In Vino Ansem Dederunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, loosely translated, means "In wine there is misinterpretation" :D
> 
> Prompt: effort catastrophies!!

Crowley tilted his head one way, then the other, peering at the _thing_ between Aziraphale's squishy thighs.

He liked gender- genid - gendertals. The things. The bits. Innies or outies or some kind of mix of 'em both. Used them all the time. Picked 'em to match his mood and his outfit. Like a hat. Sexy hat.

Trouble was...

He gave one of the metal rings a cautious prod.

Trouble was, Ziraphale _didn't_. No. S'wrong. He liked them well enough. Good for shagging and the angel _loved_ a good round of how's your father. Just didn't... use them much. Got a bit - ha - rusty without practise. Trouble with making an effort was... well... it took effort, didn't it? Can't just lie back and thing of the first thing that came to mind.

They _really_ needed to stop doing this when they were drunk.

Least until Aziraphale's brain could focus on one thing at a time.

"Angel," Crowley said as delicately as he could, "what the fuck is this?"

Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbow. "S'what you asked for," he said, brow all wrinkly and puzzled.

Crowley squinted at the narrow metal opening and the metal loops and the complete lack of squishy bits. "S'not."

"Is," Aziraphale insisted. "S'a vagina."

Wine, Crowley decided, was not a friend. "Tha's not a vagina," he said, flicking one of the rings. "I _know_ what a vagina looks like!"

"Is!" Aziraphale sat up a bit more. "Even decorated it, so it wouldn't look boring like a legionaire's one."

Crowley blinked in slow confusion. "You what? A legionnaire's? Why would a legionnaire have a _vagina_?"

Aziraphale gave him a look as if he was stupid. "For their _sword_?"

Crowley's mouth dropped open. "Oh fucking hell! Angel! No! No, not Latin! Why the hell would I want to shag a _sheath_?"

The angel's cheeks pinked. "Er... I... I thought it might be like that time... you know... with the crepes... a... a kink?"

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. S'nice of you to think I'm kinky, but _no_." He propped his elbow on Aziraphale's plump pink thigh and lowered his hand. The angel looked miserable. "S'a very nice sheath, though, for what it's worth. Liked the gold decoratey bits."

Aziraphale's expression brightened. "Really?"

Crowley couldn't help smiling. Silly drunk angel. "Yeah." He flicked one of the rings again. "Not my thing, but good effort. Ten out of ten. Gold star."

Aziraphale _beamed_.


	3. Conversation Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's dreadful prompt: in honor of easter and @Cliopadra 's hilarious prompt for the last less than fine art friday: eggs! Lay em, eat em, be them, hell I don't care! What terrible mischief can y'all get up to?

"Crowley!"

Crowley squinted up at the angel. Warm angel. Nice angel. "Ngh?"

"What the _hell_ is going in?"

Another pain squeezed all the way through his abdomen. "Ah. Er... dunno." He tugged the blanket of the couch up under him. Good place, brain said. Soft. Warm. Safe. Best place. Stupid brain wasn't doing much else. Soft, warm and safe. S'all it wanted.

"Where are your trousers?"

Crowley peered down at himself. Ah. Yeah. Too tight. had to go. Not soft or warm or safe. Bad. So gone. "Ngggg." He rolled over. More warm and wet splashed his legs. Ugh. Warm and wet good. But bad too. Bad for grumpy angel. 

"Crowley..." Aziraphale knelt down by the couch. Close. Warm. Safe. Crowley darted out his tongue. Worry. Worry bad. not safe. "Are you all right? You're... leaking all over the couch."

Crowley whined, grabbing at angel's hot, heavy hand, pressed it on his belly. Muscles all clenchy and painful and not good. Hand felt nice. Pressed firm. Angel's eyes went round as plates.

"Oh. Oh... oh no..."

Crowley clung on his hand. Nice. Hot. Strong. "S'a matter?"

Plate-eyes stared at him. "I... I think you're laying an egg."

Words managed to get by warm, soft and safe.

"The fuck you say?" Crowley yelped. 

Angel pressed his belly, low down, squished. "There... you're... um..." He got all stiff and battle-angel. "Right. First things first, we need towels. Hot water."  
"Gnnneeee????"

Angel patted him. "Stay there, dear. I'll help."

Crowley stared, then squirmed around, peered down at belly and bare, bloody legs. Dripping and shiny and wet. Bump on the belly. He stared and poked at it. Hard bump. "Fffffffffuck."

Angel came back. Bowl of water and cloths. "Hands and knees might be better," he said. "Though... well, I suppose you're a snake... do you want to change form?"

Crowley stared at him. "Angel! The fuck???"

"You didn't know this was a possibility?"

"DO I LOOK LIKE I KNEW THIS WAS A POSSIBILITY?!?!"

Angel went all pouty. "Well. I'm just _trying_ to help."

Crowley moaned and shoved his face into the cushion.

Angel petted his back. Warm hand. Warm good. Grah. Stupid fucking brain. "What do you need, my dear? Tell me. Let me help." 

"Warm," he mumbled. "Safe. Soft."

Angel had smile in his voice. "Well, I think we know I'm all of those things." He rubbed Crowley's back again. "All right, my dear. Since the couch has been thoroughly violated, you might as well stay there. Roll over and open up so I can see how we're getting on."

Crowley keened. "We. Bastard. _You're_ not doing this."

"Oh hush and let me help." Warm hands lifted him and rolled him and one leg was over the back of the couch and the other onto the floor and angel between them, hands wet and red and Crowley squirmed, flushing, as fingers moved into him. "Ah, there were are..."

Crowley hissed at him.

"If it helps," angel said. "At least there's nothing in it."

Crowley gaped at him. "Gnaaaah? All this for an _empty_ egg?" He threw back his head, yelping. Pain ran through him again and movement. Muscles squishing. Hard and painful and angel's hands wetter and moving. And something ripped. Not good. 

But then sloppy wet and angel made a sound of pleasure. "Ah-ha!"

Crowley squinted down, brain slowly coming back online. "Fuck me..."

The thing was at least the size of a bloody ostrich egg.

"I think," Aziraphale said, turning the egg this way and that, "that may have been the problem."

Crowley made a face, sitting up painfully. "I bet this is Her idea of a joke."

"Mm." Aziraphale gently wiped the egg down with his handkerchief. "A bit of an extreme measure to promote safe sex, don't you think?"

Crowley blew a raspberry, leaning forward to tap the egg. "You sure there's nothing in there?"

Blue eyes met his. "Would you feel better if there _was_?"

Crowley's brain lost all words at the though. "NGK!"

"Precisely." Aziraphale gave it a gentle polish again. 

Crowley sagged back against the couch. "Stupid thing. stupid demon body. Stupid snakes. Waste of time and ow."

Aziraphale's lips twitched in that bastarding smile and he patted Crowley's thigh. "But it will make a lovely table feature, won't it? We needed a new conversation piece."

"ANGEL!"

Aziraphale beamed at him.


	4. Particular Pleasures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _today’s prompt you get to pick between 2 or you could combine for extra horror : heaven/hell HOs get some interesting paperwork about the actions of an angel and a demon and/or weird moments in history_
> 
> Since I've already done a tonne of history, I thought I'd leave that this time around :D

The printer whirred.

“Shut it off already!” Gabriel bellowed, cramming his hand over the out tray. “SHUT IT OFF!”

“We can’t!” Uriel tried to wrench the blank paper from the feeder, but as soon as she did, a fresh roll manifested and started purring through the machine.

“Let me break it!” Sandalphon waded through the mountain of receipts. “That’ll stop it!”

A burst of paper forced its way between Gabriel’s fingers, exploding into the air in a whirling cascade, adding to the growing tangled nest of earthly receipts.

“Oh for _Heaven_ ’s sake!”

Michael swiped with a sword, cutting a neat path through to the latest report from the earth operative. “Lubricant: strawberry. Lubricant: cherry. Lubricant: vanilla cream sundae,” they read, brow furrowing. “Swing: one.”

“Another one?” Gabriel moaned. “How many swings does one angel need? Didn’t he just get one yesterday?”

“Reinforced ceiling hooks: three,” Michael put in helpfully. “I think he broke it.”

“Broke it?” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we…” He flailed a hand.” Cut him off or something? I mean these things–”

“Perversions,” Sandalphon supplied eagerly.

“Yeah, these perversions – he _can’t_ keep using miracles for them.”

The printer started to hum again and four sets of angelic eyes turned to it with trepidation.

Another roll of paper erupted out of the out tray with miracles of buttplugs and chains and floggers and–

“Gas masks? What in Her name–?” Gabriel wailed.

_________________________

“Anything else, Mr. Peterson?”

The little man peered around the back of his shop, the shelves brimming with new stock. “Honestly, Mr. Fell, I don’t know how you managed to get the suppliers to deliver so quickly.” He’d had the shop next to Mr. Fell’s for a long time, and when Mr. Fell had heard that he’d fallen on hard times, he’d come in and offered to help. “Are you sure you don’t need paying for this?”

Mr. Fell smiled at him warmly and patted him on the shoulder. “I take a… particular pleasure in the bestowing of these gifts,” he said.

Mr. Peterson grinned at him. He was, after all, a purveyor of particular pleasures. “Well, then, sir, any time you want to indulge, you be my guest.”

Mr. Fell smiled like an angel. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I shall.”


	5. Playing By The Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Board Games

"Are you sure this is in the rules?"

Crowley nodded. "Yep. Definitely. S'my fault the game ended up being capitalised on instead of being sold on as a cautionary tale. Know the rules like the back of my hand."

Aziraphale glanced up from his notebook and frowned down at the board. "So... every time I land on one of the little houses, I have to take off a piece of clothing and give you some money?"

"Renter's economy," Crowley said with all the certainty of a skilled bullshitter. "Giving the coat off your back. Metaphorical and interactive." He swayed lazily from side to side on the seat. "Not scared of losing, are you, angel?"

"Are you _sure_ you don't have the rule book somewhere...?"

Crowley gave him a wounded look over the top of his glasses. "D'you think I'd waste my time making up rules?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Fine. We'll play."

_____________________________

"No! No, you can't sodding do that!"

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Ah, but I can." He riffled through the pages of his pad. "According to the rules, as cited before we began, I can have as many houses as I like on each of the properties that I own."

"Yeah!" Crowley sputtered. "I meant like three on one property, not one on every square on the bloody board!"

Aziraphale smiled over at him, admiring the flush of pink rapidly spreading up the demon's face. And over most of his chest. And even on his bare thighs. "It's a renter's economy, my dear. One must learn to distribute one's portfolio."

Crowley stared at him in dismay. "Don't you fucking dare!"

With great care and deliberation, Aziraphale placed lovely little green houses on every coloured stripe from Regent Street to Mayfair. He glanced at Crowley's little car, parked on Piccadilly. "Do you feel lucky?" he said, unable to help himself. "Well? Do you?"

Crowley wailed and threw the dice.


	6. Playing With Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Boredom (specifically lockdown inspired)

**Day 1**  
This is fine. Definitely fine. Got telly. Got plonk. All good. Sorted.

 **Day 3**  
Video games! That's what people are doing! I'll get one of everything. Spread of a bit of wrath and jealousy while I'm at it Good stuff. 

**Day 5**  
Bloody red shell.

 **Day 7, morning.**  
Wonder if you can juggle on the ceiling.

 **Day 7, lunchtime.**  
Oh itsh shuch a perfect day. I'm glad *hic* I schpent it with you.

 **Day 7, afternoon.**  
What absolute bastard dropped that decanter there for anyone to step... oh, wait. Never mind. 

**Day 11**  
F'it's good enough for Steve McQueen, s'good enough for me.   
<Miracle - one ball and baseball oven glove thingie>  
Shit.  
<Miracle - one window pane, repaired.>

 **Day 16**  
Regina picked a damned inconvenient time to get mould. Could nip out. Others wouldn't notice. But then there are those pillocks out in the bridge every night. Don't want to give them the wrong idea.  
<Miracle - one plant, deposited in greenhouse of Buckingham Palace>

 **Day 18**  
Oh come _on_! You call that a big snake! Come back to me when you get past the ten foot mark. Ha... "World's Greatest Snakes" indeed. 

**Day 23**  
If the wine's all the way through there... wonder how far m'arms can go.

 **Day 23, evening**  
Note to self: Mavis's eyesight is bad. May take roaming arms as an omen and beat them to death with a broom. Arms officially quarantined. Bah.

 **Day 24**  
Wonder what else can change size.

 **Day 26**  
... hypothetically...

 **Day 27**  
... but technically...

 **Day 30**  
Oh come _on_. I know I'm thinking it. What's the harm?

 **Day 31**  
Note: no, it _cannot_ be used for autoerotic asphyxiation. Also, thank fuck for the glasses. Could've put my sodding eye out. 

**Day 35**  
Invented a new game of hide and seek. Well. Mostly hide. Started small. Scaled up. Definitely roomy down there. 

**Day 36**  
...

 **Day 37**  
... this is probably a bad plan.

 **Day 38**  
Stop. Folding. It. Over. You. Absolute. Tit. How did you think that was going to end? Oh, no, not another concussion. You idiot. 

**Day 40**  
Set up a new instagram. Like Where's Wally. Sort of. 

**Day 40, one hour later**  
Banned from instagram. Bloody puritanical bastards. If it's made of marble, _fine_. If it's sticking out of a bush in a flat in London, oh, no, you're a filthy pervert! Pricks. 

**Day 42**  
UGH. So bored. 

**Day 43**  
Oh! Angel!   



	7. Literally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Misadventures with Technology.
> 
> I played v. fast and loose with the kind of tech that amused me :)

It all started in the 70s.

Soho was a perfect place to it. Poster up here, little flyer stuck on a wall there.

Technically, yes, there were medical applications, but people could just be so... peoply sometimes. The little things bothered them. Didn't want to disappoint. Let the side - ha! - down. Impressions and all that and he hadn't really needed to do much to tempt people.

Had a few demonstration models just... kicking about. Planting the seeds. The ideas. Enough images to gently fan the _touch_ of self-consciousness.

Not like they really worked all that well anyway, but the _idea_ of them got people so hot and bothered. Fantastic really, what the idea of some tubes and pipes and things could do.

Easy temptation.

Best way to do a temptation, drop it in the proverbial pool and let the ripples spread.

And, once he'd done his part, he'd left it to do what it always did and forgot about it completely until – half a century later – he and an angel were moving all their things into a cottage down by the coast.

"This came on the van, Crowley."

Crowley peered around the hydrangea he was pruning. "Eh?"

Aziraphale frowned into the box. "It appears to be... some kind of medical apparatus?"

There were two responses Crowley knew he could have made in that moment. Calm, casual and dismissive. The sensible option. The one that didn't include losing his balance and tipping arse over tit into the bush.

"Oh dear!" The box rattled as Aziraphale hurried closer and Crowley scrambled up, trying to gather what remained of his dignity. "Are you all right?"

"Gnh." Crowley dusted himself down.

Shit.

Yeah

Demonstration models. Still there and pristine because Go- Sat- Someone knew he wouldn't allow dust on anything in his storage locker.

"S'nothing important, angel," he said, hoping his grin wasn't a bit too manic. "Just some old bits and pieces from the temptation days."

And Aziraphale – _bloody Aziraphale_ – picked up the sturdy glass cylinder with its tubing still attached. The pump dangled down over the edge of the box. "Oh, I see." He smiled, all warm and bright. "Do you want to keep it?"

Crowley, as a rule, didn't swallow things whole. Made a deliberate effort not to. But right now, it felt like there was a whole sodding rugby ball trying to squeeze its way down his throat. The thing. In Aziraphale's hand. That they didn't even need. But it was there and it normally attached to _places_ and -

"NGH."

Aziraphale ran his thumb thoughtfully along the glass. "I'll put it in the cupboard under the stairs, shall I? Until you decide?"

Crowley must've nodded, waved, waggled his head, _something_ cos Aziraphale trotted off and Crowley stuck his head in the bush trying not to think of the image of Aziraphale with his hands over a make-shift 70s sex aid.

The bush.

Just... just work on the garden, then the minute Aziraphale wasn't looking, take the whole lot and tip it in the nearest bin and take away all thoughts and ideas and...

He paused, flickering his tongue out.

"Oh _fuck_!"

He was on his feet and back up the garden in a second flat, cascading into the house and staring around. Another sniff and he thundered up the stairs to the library and threw open the door to find Aziraphale sitting in his armchair – puce-faced – his trousers around his ankles.

And the pump very much attached.

Crowley ricocheted back, smacking against the door frame. "Gneee??"

"Ah..." The angel cleared his throat. "Crowley. Um..." His hand closed on the pump and Crowley saw – almost _felt_ – the little ripple of pleasure. "I- I suppose I should have asked if you minded me trying it out."

Minded

Bloody angel.

Could change his sodding genitals at will. Any shape, size, colour, for Christ's sake.

And was sitting there, working a cock-enlargement pump on his knob.

And clearly _believed_ it worked from the size of the buggering thing.

Crowley.

Words.

Yeah. Words.

"Fuck..."

Aziraphale, still holding his eyes, gave the pump another squeeze. He was flushed and full and swollen and bigger than Crowley had ever seen him. "I-I used to see the adverts," he said, his tongue darting along his lower lip. "I... wondered what it might feel like."

"Yeah?" Crowley croaked. "How is it?"

Aziraphale's face lit up. "It seems to be working."

Crowley couldn't argue with that. Plump and pink and...

"Oh fuck me..." he managed hoarsely.

As the damned angel slid the glass tube off his deliciously outsized knob, he smiled that shiny bastard smile that Crowley loved more than anything. "I hoped you would say that," he said, holding out a hand to Crowley.

And, for the first time, one of Crowley's own devious schemes came back to bugger him very, very literally.


	8. Warlock-Blocked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - The Dowlings

Warlock always loved hide-and-go-seek.

Nanny knew all the best places to hide, but he had a secret weapon! Some days, Nanny wore a special kind of perfume. She didn't know he'd noticed.

All he had to do was follow the smell of the perfume.

He ran down the garden and laughed when he heard Nanny's voice coming from the gardener's house. Then frowned, because she sounded like she was hurting, shouting "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and threw the door open wide. "Nanny!"

Brother Francis and Nanny both stared at him.

Nanny was leaning on the back of the couch and Brother Francis was behind her, his arms around her middle. 

Nanny's mouth opened and shut like she wanted to say something, but didn't know what.

"Ah, hello, Master Warlock!" Brother Francis said, grinning with all his wonky teeth. "Lovely day, isn't it? I was- we were-"

"Heimlich!" Nanny shouted "He was showing me how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre! In case someone choked on their food!" 

"Oh! Yes!" Brother Francis nodded. "Heimlich manoeuvre! Very important, young Warlock! Never know when someone might swallow something!"

"NGK!" Nanny said, shoving him back, her face all red. She straightened up and came around the couch. "Well done on finding me. You'll have to tell me how you did it."

Warlock grinned at her. "Never show your weakness or divulge your sources, Nanny."

Nanny gave him a funny look, then started laughing. "Right you are, my wee monster," she said, ruffling his hair. "Shall we go and steal some biscuits?"

Warlock looked over at Brother Francis, who was as pink as Nanny. Everyone thought they didn't like each other, but Warlock knew better. "I could go and hide and you could come and find me?"

Brother Francis beamed. "That sounds marvellous, dear boy."

Nanny cleared her throat.

"Er... I mean, er... best not, young Master! The plants need a-tending! Off you trot!"

Warlock slipped his hand into Nanny's. "Did the hind-lick thing hurt?"

Nanny made a funny noise. "No, dear. Why do you ask?"

He shook his head. "Just wondering."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with [art from The Final Val](https://twitter.com/ThePartySparkle/status/1262714860493733889) :D


	9. Sneksual Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt: Travel

**293BC - Epiadarus**

Aziraphale fidgetted, peering around the courtyard of the temple. He'd seen plenty of religious buildings in his time, but most of them weren't quite so... wriggly.

"Hsssss!"

He glanced down, then lifted his foot as - oh good lord! Was that a viper? - squirmed by and out into daylight. "For Heaven's sake..."

"Hsssssss!" 

For some reason, that louder hiss sounded more emphatic than the low-level white noise of the rest of the writhing floor of the temple. Which was ridiculous. They were _snakes_. It wasn't as if-

"Oi!" A mental prod made him yelp in surprise. "Angel!"

He spun around and there, draped over a statue of Asclepius, a very familiar black serpent glared back at him. 

"Crawly?" Aziraphale glanced around to check the rest of the delegation were occupied with the High Priest. He picked his way across the floor, tip-toeing between the snakey mess. "What the hell are you playing at?"

The snake looked about as sheepish as a snake can. "M'stuck."

"Stuck? Aziraphale frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean stuck? You just need to slith-"

"Hsst!" Crawly's head snapped from side to side. "This shape. M'stuck."

"Oh. _Oh_! Oh dear. That's... not good."

Crawly looked unimpressed. "Your gift of the understatement never fails to astonish me."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Well, if you're going to be like that-" As he turned away, Crawly's long tail whipped out, curling around his wrist.

"I need out of here, angel," he said urgently. 

Aziraphale sniffed. "A temple full of snakes? I would say that's a perfect place for you to hide?" There was something in the way Crawly swayed that suggested mortal embarrassment. " _Why_?" The angel asked suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"They're horny bastards is what's going on!" Crawly exclaimed. "And I'm a prime piece of totty!"

Aziraphale's undignified snort of laughter echoed through the pillared shrine. 

"S'not funny!"

Aziraphale tried to hide his smile behind his hand. "So good at your job you even tempt holy serpents, eh?"

"Angel!" Crawly wailed.

His shoulders still shaking with barely suppressed mirth, Aziraphale held up a hand. "All right, all right. I'll help. I _am_ an angel after all." He nodded towards the entrance. "I came with the delegation from Rome. We came by ship. Once they've picked up their statue, we'll be heading back."

"That'll do," Crawly agreed, slithering down from the statue. "Distract them so I can stowaway?"

Aziraphale considered it. "You know, my dear, I think it'll be better if they see you." He waved a hand dramatically. "A sign of the God's favour and all that."

"Ugh," Crawly grumbled. "Fine." He peered at the other humans. "Two-minute head start?"

Aziraphale nodded. "I'll see you on board."

Crawly slithered onwards, then paused in the doorway, as if he wanted to say something, something they both knew he shouldn't say.

"Go on," Aziraphale insisted. "Before your friends get amorous."

Crawly - wisely - fled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 293BC a delegation from Rome went to one of the shrines to Ascelpius in Greece to get a statue of the God of Healing because a plague was ravaging the city. When a big ol' snake from the temple was seen slithering onto the Roman ship, it was seen as an auspicious sign from the God. Near Rome, said snake slithered off and wheresoever he landed, there they built the Roman temple of Ascelpius.


	10. Belles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: So let’s see what kind of wild and crazy adventures our boys can get themselves into celebrating pride month with all their favorite humans. Present day, historical, you know the drill--flip through an encyclopedia and point.

"Maggie!"

The plump woman beamed at Crowley. "How do, Mister Crowley," she said, opening the door wider and ushering him in. "Didn't expect to see you round my way again."

Crowley grinned. "Where else am I going to get a decent tally of tempting in on a Saturday night, I ask you?"

She snorted in amusement. "Any inn in London, you scallywag." She looked him up and down. "Fine cut, indeed. Always keeping up with the gentlefolk, aren't you?"

Crowley didn't even glanced down. He looked damn good, black from top-to-toe as usual, his coat pinched in to flatter at the waist and flaring around his sleek-fitting breeches. Scarlet serpents curled down the front of his waistcoat, and the serpent's head of his staff shone silver.

"You know how it is," he said with a sigh. "Keeping up appearances."

The woman gave him a studious look. "I might yet find a fine lad for you."

"You know that's not why I come, Maggie."

"I know," she said, nudging him, "but I yet live in hope." She hooked her arm through his. "Come away in."

As always, her house was packed to the rafters with a particular kind of men. Women had it easy. Men didn't pay them enough attention to realise what secrets they were exchanging under cover of night. Men, however, did notice when others among their society were... misbehaving.

They had to find places to go.

Maggie gave them one such place.

"Here you go, duck," she said, shooing some amorous young men away from a couch and urging Crowley to sit. "See if we can't tempt the tempter for once, eh?"

He gave her a crooked smile, his eyes darting around the room. Maybe it was doing things the easy way, but he'd never professed to enjoy a hard slog. A flicker of lust there, jealousy there, all the little things that sparked off each other and turned into an inferno and-

A hand brushed his knee and Crowley almost shot off the couch, startled.

A man had slipped up on him unexpectedly, dressed in a froth of white and lace and delicate gauzy mask that covered his face.

No.

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

"Angel?" he croaked.

"Angelique," the definitely-absolutely-one-hundred-per-cent angel said sternly.

Oh. Right. Yeah. Club rules. Certain members took feminine names to express their preferences. And... and Az... oh Jesus Christ...

Crowley scrambled to his feet, catching Aziraphale by the arm and hauling him away from the main room. Small rooms opened up off the upper landing and it took three attempts to find one that wasn't currently occupied.

Aziraphale's heeled shoes tapped along beside him, but mercifully, the angel didn't protest the manhandling, not even when Crowley shoved him into the room and slammed the door behind them.

"What the fu-"

His words were stifled when the angel pushed him up against the door, kissing him as if they'd ever done that before and- and- and-

"NGHK!!!" He grabbed the angel's shoulder's pushing him back. "Azirap-"

"Angelique," the bloody angel snapped back.

"Oh for Satan's sake!" Crowley reached up and tore that damned silly mask off Aziraphale's face. "No! no, I'm not doing this!"

Aziraphale went pink. "You... isn't that why you're here?"

Cogs slowly started grinding and Crowley gaped at him. "That's why _you_ are??"

The angel huffed, stamping away from him and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I keep an eye on the young men here," he said. "Make sure they don't get into too much trouble as much as I can. And you..." He went pinked. "Well, I'd- you'd- I mean..."

And Crowley had been known to flit in and out, wandering from room to room.

"Ah." He winced. "Yeah. No." Other cogs rumbled into place. "Wait! You came to try-" He flapped a hand wildly. "You? With me?"

The angel gave him a put-out look. "I rather thought kissing you suggested that." He turned over his mask, glaring down at it. "I hoped if you didn't know it was me, then you might... I don't know... be interested."

"Be interested," Crowley echoed blankly.

"Oh, you don't have to sound so shocked!"

"Angel, I don't come here to shag anyone!"

"Oh _really_!"

"Oh? Oh _really_?" He yanked the door open and yelled out, "Oi, Maggie! How many times have I buggered anyone?"

A chorus of hoots of laughter rang out, and another round followed when the lady of the house yelled back, "If you can't remember that, duck, you're doing it wrong!"

Crowley groaned, slamming the door shut. "I just come here for the tempting!" he said, whipping back around to face the angel. "S'not– I didn't–" He growl-groaned again, sagging back against the door.

"Really?" Aziraphale asked in a small voice.

Crowley crossed the floor and sagged down to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. "Really," he murmured. He glanced at the downcast angel and nudged him gently. "Never expected I'd make an angel jealous."

Aziraphale huffed, pouting at him. "I'm hardly jealous."

"Uh huh." Crowley grinned. "Angelique, eh? Did you hurt yourself coming up with that?"

Aziraphale smacked him on the knee. "You are an absolute beast," he huffed, getting to his feet. "I thought- I mean, after all this time-"

Crowley whipped out his arm, hooking the froth of Aziraphale's waistcoat with the fangs of his serpent staff. "Put the mask back on," he murmured.

"What?"

"Put the mask back on."

Aziraphale flushed pink. "You mean...?"

"I mean, I'm a demon. Got to take advantage of a human now and then, don't I?" He pushed himself to his feet, heart thundering against his ribs, but somehow lying raw in his hands at the same time. "I came in here with Angelique, after all."

Aziraphale's face lit up and he tied the mask back in place.

Some time later, they stumbled out the room, giggling and leaning on one another. Crowley had no idea where his cravat had buggered off to, which was impressive given that he manifested his clothes, and Aziraphale looked even more frothy and lace-decked than before.

Maggie beamed at them as they came back down the stairs. "Another happy marriage, my boys!" she cried out and the room burst into applause.

"Marriage?" Aziraphale squeaked.

"Oh," Crowley croaked. "Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie is loosely based on Margaret Clap, who ran the equivalent of a gay club (a molly house) in Holborn in 1726.


	11. Smashing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidental Discorporations

In the history of discorporations, Crowley had a pretty decent collection. 

He'd even started keeping a record of them, giving them marks out of ten and such. Favourite so far was that incident with the boulder. Nice and quick. Just squelch and done (and he got Hastur back for that a decade later. Turned out his ragged robes were beautifully flammable, especially if some absolute rat-bastard poured flammable pitch all over them first).

Worst one to date was the Barrel.

Say what you like about humans, but whoever came up with putting someone in a barrel and hammering nails through and rolling down a hill was a complete bastard. Wouldn't've been so bad if he hadn't been napping and nursing a hangover when the bloody idiots grabbed him and popped him in like a plum for pickling. 

Still, there was one that never, ever, ever made it into his records.

Bloody embarrassing it was too.

But, in his defence, he'd never had a car before. How the hell was he meant to know that one of the buttons made it go backwards straight into a brick wall?


	12. TADA!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "Aziraphale's Magic Act"

Crowley walked in a slow circle around the box. "No."

Aziraphale's face fell. "But I really need to practise!"

"I've seen your magic before, angel." He swung around and gave the angel a pointed stare. "I remember Lazarus."

Aziraphale puffed up indignantly. "That's not his name."

"Could've fooled me." He crouched down, examining the seams of the box. "So how does it work, then?"

"A magician," Aziraphale sniffed haughtily, "doesn't give away his secrets."

"Don't know, eh?"

"Oh for Heaven's- Of _course_ I know!" Aziraphale sidestepped a little closer to him. "Really, my dear, it would be a wonderful favour to see if I can still do it."

Crowley didn't look at him. Definitely didn't look. Almost definitely didn't look. Okay, sort of maybe looked a bit. Oh, all right, he got the full force of that pout and the wide batting eyes and those innocent pink hands twisting together as if in prayer.

"Fine!" he sighed. "What do you need me to do?"

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Just pop in the box and I'll do the rest."

_Two hours later_

The shop door crashed inwards and Aziraphale leapt to his feet, relief and panic vying for favour.

Crowley stormed in, face black as thunder, his corporation fresh and crisp and new.

"Ah. Good! You... you're back."

"Oh yes," Crowley hissed. "What the _fuck_ , angel?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat self-consciously. "It turns out you're not meant to use a _real_ chainsaw."


	13. The Labour of One's Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme this week is housework :)

Many things had changed since the moved to the South Downs.

Living together was quite an education and Aziraphale was enjoying all... well... most of the lessons. Though not particularly the ones where Crowley swore blue murder after tripping over a stack of books and knocking them down the stairs. Learning to keep the place tidy was taking some getting used to.

Still, Crowley insisted it would be worth his while to keep the place a little tidy, so he made an effort - the tedious kind, rather than the amusing one. Under Crowley's watchful eyes, he relocated all his books to the large library that took up the entirety of the living room and looked comfortably like the bookshop. The demon sprawled on the couch, rapt, as Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

"You know, I rather think you're enjoying this," he said with a sniff when he heard Crowley sigh as he carried another stack of books towards the shelves.

"Can you blame me?"

Aziraphale made a moue. "Hardly fair, is it? Eyeing me like the help while you lounge around like a king in his castle?"

Crowley grinned, showing a glint of pointed teeth. "Turn about, next nice day we have."

Aziraphale huffed, though he had to admit the thought of Crowley in the sun, working in the garden was rather lovely.

England being what it was, the weather didn't cooperate for several days and he had almost forgotten until he heard music inexplicably blasting from the front of the house.

He considered his tea and crumpet, then the golden sunlight, then the crumpet.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!"

Taking his plate and crumpet with him, he hurried through the hall and out the open front door into the courtyard.

Whereupon he promptly dropped plate, crumpet and all.

"Oh good Lord!"

Crowley – bent over the bonnet of the Bentley and foamy to the wrists – threw a sultry look over his very bare shoulder. His entire body was spattered with white froth and there was a great deal of it on display. All but the rather shockingly - and impressively tiny - little shorts that rode up as he bent and lathered the car again.

Aziraphale made a hoarse sound, running his finger along the inside of his collar.

The demon sauntered around the car, all but draping himself across it like the floozy he liked to think he was, rising on his toes, bracing on knee, reaching up and letting the water cascade down-

And somehow, Aziraphale went from the front step to both hands on those invitingly pert little buttocks.

Crowley laughed, doing that rather nimble little twitching thing of his hips and buttocks. "That's hardly _eyeing_ the help, is it?"

The angel hooked his thumbs over the waistband of those little shorts and dragging them down. "Oh do shut up, dear," he growled, pressing Crowley down over the bonnet of the car again.

Some very damp time later, Crowley squirmed under him. "S'new," he murmured, his cheek still pressed against the gleaming black metal.

"Hm?" Aziraphale stroked his side, bubbles still clinging to his skin.

The demon's smirk was visible at the corner of his mouth. "Never had a threesome before."

"CROWLEY!"


	14. Making a Hash of Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week’s theme is drugs. I’m not sure how or if celestial corporations are given permissions to experience drug effects, but I assume they must. Might have changed over the years, now that I think about it… Does Heaven change their policies over time?
> 
> So, there you go. If you want to avoid the lads trying some assis (aka hash pastilles) in 14th century Cairo, now is your time to exit :)

Aziraphale licked some of the powdery residue from his fingertips. "Curious flavour," he decided, leaning back on his divan. "Though I don't see what all the fuss is about."

Crowley picked another small block up, eyeing it. "Well, there must be something about it. Why would they get all worked up over it otherwise?"

"Oh, you know humans," Aziraphale said airily, popping another block of assis into his mouth. "If they can't complain about something, they'll make something up about something."

Crowley peered at him. "Said something lots there."

"Did I?"

The demon nodded sagely, chewing on his fifth block of assis. "Y'did. Somethinged a lot."

"Well, isn't that something..." Aziraphale giggled suddenly. Actually properly giggled.

Crowley grinned. "I think it's working." He wriggled closer on his knees, circling the low brass table and leaning in as close as he could to stare at Aziraphale. Angel's eyes were all big and wide. Looked like little stormclouds. Made sense, that. Hair like a cloud. Storm underneath.

"Shoo!" Aziraphale poked the middle of Crowley's forehead. He wasn't sitting up anymore. Not like usual, Sitting sideways. Lisssting. Good word Lisssssst. "You're very close, dear boy."

"Mm." He agreed, flopping his arms on the edge of the divan.

Aziraphale pouted at him, trying to sit up, then huffing and sinking back down. Still grabbed himself another bit of assis from the box and munched on it. Big box it was, and there were only a few bits left.

"Do you know," Aziraphale mused, gazing at him, his face all soft and warm like... like something soft and warm. "Your hair is _remarkable_."

"It is?"

"Mm." A broad flat hand plopped down on Crowley's head. "Like touching fire. But no burniness."

Crowley swatted at him. "M'not on fire."

"No," Aziraphale agreed sagely, but plopped his hand down again, thick fingers in Crowley's hair and rub-rubbing. Nice rub-rubbing, though. Like he was a cat. Could demons purr, Crowley wondered, like cats? He gave it a go.

The angel's face went all twisty. "Are you going to be sick?"

"M'purring!" Crowley declared indignantly. "Obviously."

"You call _that_ purring?" Aziraphale pushed himself up more on his elbow. "Have you ever heard a cat?"

"You're a cat," Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale peered at him, then his face went all bright. "I think I would be a _lovely_ cat." He sat up properly, wobbling a bit, like a skittle that was about to fall over. "White and fluffy, I think."

Crowley made a face. "Cats are bastards."

"Oh, shush," the angel said, waggling a finger at him. "You're just annoyed because they're sensible and don't like demons." He flapped his hands. "All right, let's see if I can..."

Angel-power was all crackly in the air.

"Whatchoo doing?"

"I," Aziraphale retorted, "am going to be a _lovely_ cat."

Crowley sniffed, screwing up his nose. "You ever done animal trans... changey thingy before?"

"I'm sure it's very straightforward," Aziraphale said primly, smoothing his kaftan down. He paused. "How many legs do cats have?"

"Four." Crowley plucked another bit of assis from the box, watching. Did it matter if it went wrong? Nah. Would it be hilarious either way? Yeah.

"You sure?" Aziraphale peered at him. "What about the..." He flapped a hand. "The wobbly one? Over its bottom?"

Crowley choked with laughter. "S'a _tail_ , you idiot."

"Tail! Yes! Of course!" Aziraphale glowed happily. "Four limbs, pointy ears and fluffy tail."

The air went all crackly like Crowley's hair when he brushed it, and the angel made a big flash of light, because – like cats – he was a bastard. Crowley groaned, hiding behind his dark glasses.

"Oh dear."

Crowley squinted out at him. "Did it work?"

"Er..."

Crowley's eyes started working again, still dotted with bastard purple spots, and he took off his glasses to rub them five times. Then again for good measure.

"Fuck..."

Aziraphale pouted at him. Or sort of? Kind of hard to tell in a fluffy face with fluffy ears. But human sized. Human sized and human shaped and twisting big fluffy front paws together.

"S'not a cat," Crowley informed him. "Cats are..." He held out a hand. "So big. S'not a cat."

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. "Ah. But..." He reached behind him and something went rrrrrrrrrrrrrip. A huge floofy... thing appeared behind him. "Four limbs, tail and ears. Cat."

Crowley stared at him. "Bollocks."

"Cat!" Aziraphale insisted.

"Bollocks!" Crowley insisted back. "F'you're a cat, I'm a chicken."

"Featherless biped," Aziraphale said, looking insufferably smug for something with a fluffy face.

Crowley jabbed a finger at him, but then subsided. "Bloody Diogenes." He reached out and gave Aziraphale's fluffy tail a pat. "Soft."

"Mm." Aziraphale nodded, then giggled when Crowley reached up and scritched behind his ears. Soft there too. And then he started making a funny rumbly noise.

"Wassat?" Crowley demanded, pressing his ear against Aziraphale's chest.

"That," Aziraphale said smugly, "is _purring_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to what I've read, generally you were only meant to eat one or two pieces of assis in a sitting. Naturally, our ineffable idiots didn't pay attention to that and scoffed the whole box.


	15. Oooh-wee-wooooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "behind the couch"

"This is ridiculous!"

Crowley shot a glare at him. "You think I don't know that?"

On the far side of the sofa, something fell over with a crash, smaller items bouncing and rattling across the floor. "My chess set!" Aziraphale moaned. "Why the hell did you have to bring them here!"

"I _didn't_!" Crowley protested. "They just show up!"

Aziraphale glowered at him. "Show up. Obviously." He leaned up to peer over the back of the couch, then shrank back down. "I _knew_ you shouldn't have started watching that nonsense!"

Crowley made a face at him. "How was I meant to know they're real?"

The angel gave him a long, slow look. "They're not. It's a televisual show! Fictional!"

"Ha! Then how come they're here? And how come the old hide-behind-the-sofa trick is protecting us?"

"Oh dear Lord..." Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was what the children believed, dear boy! They're toys! Controlled by people! Probably people in boxes with wheels!"

Crowley eyed him doubtfully. "Look pretty convincing to me." He leaned sideways, peering out around the edge of the couch at the trundling object. Okay, yeah, maybe some bits of it looked very human. Specifically the toilet plunger at the front. "Fine," he grumbled, scrambling onto his knees, "but if they bump me off, I'm never going to stop saying I told you so."

Aziraphale caught his arm. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Crowley glared at him. "I thought you said you didn't believe they were real."

"I don't," Aziraphale said. "But you do." He rose and strode out from behind the couch and before the... thing could finish yelling its battle cry, there was a crunch of metal and a sad mechanical whirring. "There we go! All finished!"

Crowley poked his head over the back of the couch and gaped.

Aziraphale had cleanly ripped the top off their enemy.

"Blimey..."

Aziraphale waved the plunger at him. "You see, my dear? Nothing we can't handle. No one exterminated at all."

Crowley swung over the back of the couch, sliding to sit on it. "Still think the couch helped."

"If you say so, dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the lore of old Who fans that hiding behind a couch will protect you from daleks :D


	16. Foreshadowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt was Prophecies :D

"Hsst."

Cassandra lifted her head from the bed. The room was dark but for the lamp flickering. "Who's there?"

"Ssss'me."

She rolled over and came nose to nose with a huge black snake. She squeaked and - without thinking - smacked the snake with a sandal.

"Ow!" the snake said indignantly, recoiling. "What was that for?"

She scrambled off the bed, holding the sandal out like a sword. "You're a snake!"

"Well, observational skills aren't lacking." It coiled onto her bed, tilting its head. "You going to smack me again?"

"Are you going to bite me?"

It wrinkled its nose. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you're a _snake_."

It made a hissing noise that was almost like laughter. "Nah." It swayed, watching her. "Wanted a word."

"A word." Which made her realise something she really should have noticed before. "How are you talking?"

"With my mouth," it replied. "Listen, I heard you've got a knack. Looking into the future and that."

"Ah." She lowered the sandal. "You won't believe me."

"You're talking to a conversational snake. S'a lot of things I believe."

She fiddled with the sandal. "How did you learn to talk?"

"How did you learn to prophecy?"

She winced. "Ah."

"Yeah. That." It shifted, making itself comfortable. "So. Prophecy me. What big exciting things do I have in store?"

Cassandra approached the bed. "Can I touch you?"

It made a surprisingly human shrug for something that didn't have any shoulders. "F'you have to."

Despite the urge to run away yelling about the bloody great snake on her bed, she reached out and pressed her hand to the thick black coils. And like the summer rains, the images came, thick and fast and so... so much more than anyone she had ever touched before.

And the words spilled out.

"A man on a tree. He wasn't your friend but you were his. They raise his tree and it... changes things. And always, red and white together. Everywhere, circling eddies on a pond, binary stars."

The world rushed in, sharp and hard, moments in crystal clarity.

"You'll break his chains and set him free but he won't see it. Over and over. Dancing for him, in a place you shouldn't be, raising your hands to your God. He won't see it until he does and when he does, you'll burn."

She wrenched her hand away, gasping, the heat of the flames too real. Which ones? She didn't know.

The snake stared at her.

She stared back, shaking.

"What a load of bollocks!"

She smacked him with her sandal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of many Cassandra myths was that serpents whispered knowledge to her. How could I not use that? :D


	17. A Touch of the Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt: "you shall have no other gods before me"  
> Surely there would have been some side-story to tell about Moses. Or the golden calf. But don't feel you have to limit yourself to biblical history! How did our ineffable idiots deal with, say, the ancient Roman, Greek, or Egyptian gods? Did Crowley ever compete with Seth to cause chaos? Did Aziraphale ever get pissed with Bacchus? Or, if all those other gods are just flukes anyway, what do an angel and a demon do when their miracles are ascribed to the wrong authority?

The pounding of the drums shook the earth, the women stamping and dancing, arms raised and bare in the firelight. Most of them were well into their cups and had been eating, sniffing, or rubbing some kind of hallucinogens on themselves.

Either way, in Crawly's opinion, it was one hell of a party.

She threaded her way - only a little wobbly from plenty of good, unwatered wine - through the throng, the place awash with excitement, lust and passion.

Above the trees, the moon was rising, bright and shiny as a silver coin.

One of the woman caught Crawly's arm, whirling her into the dance which was... a bit weird, truth be told. Whatever they'd been rubbing all over themselves, it was opening their mortal eyes a bit wider.

"He's coming!" the woman shouted exultantly. "The God!"

"Course he is, love!" Crawly shouted back over the drums. "Probably hangs around with mortals all the time!"

More often than not, some cheeky human who happened to look conveniently like one of the fancy statues used it as an excuse to put it about. There had been a few Zeus-a-likes back in the day.

Watching Leda trying to explain away why she'd been shagging a giant duck had been an interesting day. Not quite as interesting as a strapping Greek lad in a Grecian fluffy duck onesie getting shot in the arse as he swam back across the river.

The woman's glittering eyes fixed on her suddenly, with a lot more focus than someone who was as high as Orion should have had. "You're a newcomer." She cupped her hands around her mouth. "A newcomer!"

"Ah, shit!" Crowley yelped as a dozen overexcited humans grabbed at her, hoisting her above their heads. Like waves of limbs, she was passed from hand to hand towards a...

A throne. Well... wasn't that great?

Still, as she was deposited on a cushion at the foot of the throne, she had to admit it was probably the best seat in the house. Even with woman daubing kohl around her eyes and stringing flowers and leaves in her hair.

"Er..." She leaned sideways towards one of them. "What am I doing up here?"

"The God welcomes all newcomers," the woman whispered, then giggled. "He'll bless you himself."

Crawly sniggered. Course he would. Get a whole stack of wild and drunk and horny women and they'd all be up for a good blessing, as much as the next under-satisfied Roman woman. A long, hard, vigorous blessing. And from the prickle on her skin, the envy was picking up. So people _wanted_ to be blessed, did they? Well, all the better for her, getting them all stoked up with the sins.

What the hell was the bugger doing to convince them he was the genuine article?

For appearances' sake, she let the fibula of her stola slip undone, slipping off her shoulder, almost baring a ruby-tipped breast.

The dancing and drumming continued until the moon was directly overhead, turning the less than clear-clearing silver-blue. The sudden hush was as shocking as a thunderclap and Crawly shifted on the cushion, peering around.

The crowd opened up by the fire, revealing a white stone pathway to the throne and - between one blink and the next - their God appeared, facing the flames.

And it was definitely divine.

Very much not human.

Crawly stared as the crowd fell to their knees like wheat before the wind. It glowed. He. No. Definitely he. Broad shouldered, a wine-dark chiton baring sturdy legs and thick arms, silver and gold leaves wreathing his head.

With a gesture of his hand, the crowd surged on him, touching, keening, moaning. Nah. Not just touching. More hands on than that. Very hands on. So much so that he was promptly very clothes off. Wine streamed down over his body, poured and splashed by his followers, licked from his skin.

Crawly blinked stupidly.

Right. Yes. No. Bad. Blessing bad from someone like that. Very bad.

She tried to wriggle sideways, but was blocked by swaying women.

Other way. Nope. Same.

And the God turned and like a lodestone, Crawly's eyes were drawn to... well, in her defence you could hardly miss the sodding great torpedo, spattered in wine and clearly wet and thoroughly licked.

"Ngh," she informed her neighbour.

"Mm!" Her neighbour agreed as the God moved towards them

F'she could just sober up in time, she could shift back and under the throne and away, but brain was being stupid and staring at the Thing that was coming towards her. Bobbing. Bit like Leda's duck. Heh. Duck. No. Dick. Dick's'a funny one. Sweet Satan's left bollock, if it was...

"A newcomer, my Lord," someone cried out as the God stroked himself, walking towards her.

Ah, shit.

Right. yeah. Sober and under the throne and... and... she chewed her lip, staring at it. It'd been a while, and yeah, okay, maybe he _was_ radiating divine power, but the mood was contagious. Couldn't wade through so much horny without it rubbing off.

And there it was, eye-level, bobbing in front of her, and fuck it, she dived forward and wrapped her mouth around it, loosening her jaw a bit more than was humanly feasible to swallow it down.

"Oh my!" squeaked the God.

Crawly yanked her head back in astonishment, looking up. And the buggering angel – tarted up as Bacchus – came all over her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, have you _looked_ at some of the representations of Bacchus? :D


	18. Poor Life Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt this week is The Antichrist ("The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness")

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. "You may need to run that by me again."

"I nicked him."

The angel held up a hand. "Yes, I got that much, but I need you to be specific. _Which_ him?"

Crowley gave him a helpless, panicked grin. "So, here's the thing. You know how people say all babies look like Churchill?" He waved a shaking hand towards the three baskets on the floor. "Well, they do."

Aziraphale liked to think he was remarkably patient and tolerant, an angel of the Lord, gracious and merciful and forgiving. Most of the time.

But certainly not when an armed police unit was camping outside with lots and lots of men in uniform shouting about hostage situations.

"You absolutely imbecile!"

"I didn't know they'd follow me!"

"Oh, no, I'm sure you didn't. You just _steal_ three babies from a religious hospital, one of which appears to be some kind of _American_. Don't you know there are whole filmographies about what excitable Americans do when you take their offspring? It usually involves _guns_ , Crowley! Lots and lots of _guns_!"

"I know!" The demon sagged down onto the couch, dejected. "I just... d'you want the world to end? Because I don't. And one of those little pink things is going to be the thing to do it."

Aziraphale subsided with a sigh. "Do you have any idea which one is the right one?"

Crowley shook his head gloomily. "Blond. Dangly downstairs. Pink face. Nuns were whizzing the cots back and forth all over the place."

The angel went over the baskets, stooping to examine them. "That one smells rather demonic."

"It's a _baby_ , angel." Crowley sighed. "He's filled his nappy."

Aziraphale chewed his lip thoughtfully. "What if we put them back?"

"What? All of them? Including-"

"Yes, including. _We_ don't know which one is which. No one else will either. They can run one of those DMC tests to confirm which is which."

Crowley snorted weakly. "DNA," he corrected. "And what happens when they do? And the babies are correctly distributed."

"Well, clearly, human error," the angel replied. "Nothing to do with you."

"I meant about the... you know... the third one."

Aziraphale glanced back at him. "We can't leave him unsupervised."

"So we find some nice humans to raise him?" Crowley's voice rose hysterically. "Here you go! Lovely new baby! Don't mind if his head spins round or he projectile vomits across the room. Totally normal in newborns!"

Aziraphale stared at him, then back at the babies. "I suppose... do you have much experience with babies?"

"NO! No, we are not adopting the Antichrist!"

"And I suppose you have a better idea?" Aziraphale retorted tartly, "Quite aside from abducting every baby in a hospital? A single better idea than _that_?"

_______________________________

**Several days later**

"I'm sure we'll be very happy with the little man," Mr. Fell said, beaming and pink-cheeked. "My wife'll be over the moon."

Mother Superior grimaced, watching as the insipid middle-aged man carried the baby who had to be the Antichrist away to an imposing black Bentley. A red-haired woman was sitting in the driver's seat, looking about as happy as the Mother Superior felt.

"What do we tell Lord Hastur?" Sister Theresa muttered.

Mother Superior gave her a carefully blank look. "About what?"

The other nun winced. "Ah. Yes. I doubt there would be any kind of reward for this kind of cock-up."

"Quite."


	19. Keeping Abreast of Fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: clothes and clothing mishaps

"No."

Aziraphale frowned as Crowley physically bundled him back out of the door of the very grand and elegant party. "What on earth are you doing?" he demanded, smacking Crowley on the arm with his fan.

The demon stared at him, or at least Aziraphale presumed that was what the slack-jawed expression meant, his eye-glasses almost absurdly large. "Angel, for the love of Satan, you cannot go into an audience with the new Queen dressed in a frock like that!"

The angel frowned, bemused. "But they're all the rage."

" _Were_ ," Crowley corrected vehemently. "You _can't_ show up like..."

He waved helplessly and expansively to the rather lovely and very fine gown Aziraphale had chosen to wear. The linen was light as air and in the summer heat, it seemed very fitting to-

"Wait..." Crowley tilted his glasses down an inch and his eyes went wide as saucers. "Ngk!"

Growing more irritated by the moment, Aziraphale huffed. "What on earth is the matter now?"

"Your..." He flapped a hand to Aziraphale intrepid feminine accessories.

"My breasts?" Aziraphale looked down at them. "What's wrong with them?"

"You've got... on them..." Another weak hand flap.

"Well, of course!" Aziraphale declared, outraged. "You didn't expect me to go out without rouging my nipples."

In the years to follow, Crowley would forever deny keeling over like a skittle in the hall of Windsor Palace, taking out a candelabra and several startled house staff. Of course, likewise, Aziraphale would forever deny showing up to meet the new young Queen dressed like a contemporary harlot.


	20. Bird-Brained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What do they do when they are apart?
> 
> Specifically - How do they stay in touch when they travel apart; with an angel who refuses to own a mobile phone? Or, dare I say, before phones were a thing at all. Did they come up with any means for communication, or limit themselves to letters? Or did they enjoy their freedom to bless and tempt to their hearts' desire without judgment from the other? Are they pining from afar, do they have secret pictures of each other to gaze at, and how does that turn out for them? Or do they just clear their head and do something entirely unrelated to their counterparts?

Dear Crowley.  
I hope this message finds you well. I have been having a lovely time in Alexandria. Do you know they have a rather marvellous drink. It's rather like bread in liquid form and give one such a warm feeling of satisfaction.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale.

_____________________

  
How the hell did you get a pigeon to carry your letters? Liquid bread sounds rubbish.

___________________

  
Dear Crowley.  
It's how they send all their messages here. I simply told it to find you and lo, it apparently did. Isn't it marvellous?  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale

____________________

Pretty sure you just miracled a bird. Can't just _tell_ them to go to a person. Doesn't work like that.

_____________________

  
Dear Crowley.  
I certainly did no such thing. It was simply a very well-trained bird.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale.

_____________________

  
Bollocks.

_____________________

Dear Crowley,  
How dare you! It is! I asked the bird master and he says that the birds are all specifically trained to carry messages throughout the kingdom!  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale

______________________

BOLL. LOCKS.

  
______________________

Dear Crowley,  
That isn't even a word, you stupid man.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale

_______________________

BOLL-LOCKS

Dictionary definition: what you talk.

_______________________

Dear Crowley.  
I shant't write again.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale.

_______________________

Could just not bother writing. But no, had to miracle another pigeon to carry your Bollocks.

_______________________

Y'BASTARD

_______________________

Bloody hell! CALL THEM OFF!

______________________

ANGEL! STOP IT! One was enough! I didn't need a whole buggering flock!

_______________________

Dear Crowley,  
I'm very sorry you seem to have a bird issue. Maybe birds in Europe are less well-trained.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale

_______________________

  
ANGEL PEOPLE THINK I'M AN ILL-OMEN. THEY WANT TO BURN ME AT A BIG STICK. STOP FANNYING ABOUT WITH THE SODDING PIGEONS.

_______________________

Dear Crowley,  
Er... hello, dear. I'm afraid I may have been... a little mistaken. It transpires the birds actually aren't trained to travel outside Egypt. Please accept this abject apology for my grievous error.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale

_______________________

Is that apology going to scrape the bird shit off my house?

_______________________

Dear Crowley,  
I'll see you on Wednesday.  
Apologetically yours,  
Aziraphale  
P.S. I'll bring a shovel

________________________

Fine. I'll get dinner in.

________________________

  
Dear Crowley,  
Much obliged.  
With gratitude,  
Aziraphale

_________________________

That was almost a 'thank you', angel.

_________________________

  
Dear Crowley.  
Whoopsie-daisy.  
Sincerely,  
Aziraphale


	21. Roll of the Dice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: D&D/roleplay games
> 
> Now bear in mind I haven't played D&D in almost 7 years, my terminology is very rusty.

GOD : Right. Where were we? Let me check... right. Hastur and Ligur were in the graveyard. Handed over the baby to Crowley. Lucifer, you did your Freddie Mercury impression through the radio.

Crowley: Can't believe you're making us do the Armageddon arc. This is rubbish.

GOD: Do you want me to make this worse for you? Because you know I could.

Crowley: Ugh. Fine. Right. I drive to the convent to hand over the baby.

GOD: You arrive at the building. It's dark and quiet. Several cars are in the car park. You see a man standing outside the door, having a smoke. He's in his 30s and looks anxious.

Crowley: That'll be the dad, eh? I get out of the car and ask him which room the baby is being delivered in.

GOD: The man reminds you that you've left your lights on.

Crowley: NGH. Fine! Can I cast miracle to switch them off? Should have enough slots for a small one.

GOD: Feel free.

Crowley: Right. I cast miracle and put the lights off, then ask him what's going on.

GOD: Roll for perception check.

Crowley: ...why?

GOD: Roll. For. Perception.

Crowley: <rolls a two>

GOD: The man tells you that they're getting on with it and seems to think you're a doctor.

Aziraphale: That seems-

GOD: Ah, no out of character discussion. Crowley?

Crowley: Er. I ask what room the baby is being born in?

GOD: The man tells you room three.

Crowley: Okay. I go into the convent.

GOD: The halls are quiet and empty. A single nun hurries down a hall, carrying what appears to be a biscuit tin.

Crowley: Can I get her attention and give her the baby?

GOD: Mary, perception for you.

Mary: Oooh! This is exciting! <rolls an eight>

GOD: You turn around and found a slinky looking man in dark glasses with red hair standing a few feet away from you. He's one of the demons from the charts of Hell's envoys. He's carrying a picnic basket, which he holds out.

Mary: I take the basket and open it.

GOD: A golden haired male baby stares back at you, as normal as can be.

Mary: Is that him?

Crowley: [to God] It is, isn't it?

GOD: Course it bloody is. Can't play the Armageddon arc without an antichrist.

Crowley: Ugh. Yup.

Mary: [to God] Does he look demonic? I mean, should I be scared or anything?

GOD, flatly: A golden haired male baby stared back at you, as normal as can be.

Mary: Oh. I would've expected funny eyes or teensy weensy little hoofikins.

Crowley, sulkily: It's definitely him.

Mary: Fancy me, holding the antichrist, counting his little toesie wosies.

Crowley: [to God] Honestly, does it have to be her? Can't we get one of the other clerics in? She's one biscuit short of a tin.

GOD: Are you telling me how to run my game?

Crowley: <makes a face>

Mary: <staring flatly at Crowley across the table> I talk to the baby. I ask if he looks like his daddy. <leans in spitefully closer> I ask if he looks like his daddy waddikins.

Crowley: <impatiently> He doesn't. Take him up to room... <checks notes> three.

Mary: Room three.

Crowley: I leave.

Mary: And I call after him, asking if he thinks the Antichrist'll remember me when he grows up.

Crowley: Oh for God's... pray that he doesn't.

Aziraphale: Do stop sulking, dear.

Crowley: What? I'm just. Daddy-waddikins? What's that even meant to be?

Mary: It's how you talk to babies, you arsehole. So does this mean I get to do the baby swap?

GOD: It looks like it. Sister Catherine finds you in the hall and asks what you're doing.

Mary: Ooh! I tell her about Master Crowley and the baby and that I need to take him to room three.

GOD: Sister Catherine tells you to go up. You fetch a crib and take the Antichrist into the room. The baby's father enters. Perception check.

Mary: <rolls 5>

GOD: The father is a polite and well-spoken man, but his accent isn't as strong as you expected. He appreciates your offer of biscuits and has clearly assimilated well enough to call them that instead of cookies. You're having a nice chat with the Ambassador when Sister Theresa arrives. She winks at you.

Mary: Oh. Right. Um. I wink at her to show which baby is our Lord's son.

GOD: I'll need a performance check.

Mary: <rolls 2> Oh. Shit.

GOD: Sister Theresa takes the other baby away.

Mary: Oh thank God. <grins at Crowley> See? That's how you do it.

Crowley: Still doesn't mean I'm not going to be a pain in the arse about it.

________________________________

SEVERAL INTERMINABLY LONG ROUNDS LATER

Crowley: What checks do I need to do to spot this bloody dog?

GOD: There is no dog.

Aziraphale: I can perform animal handling. Maybe I can do a check based on that?

GOD: Go on then.

Aziraphale: <rolls 15>

GOD: There's a dove in your sleeve. It's also the only animal in the area. It's also dead.

Aziraphale: What? Bugger! I forgot it was in there.

Crowley: That doesn't help us stop the sodding dog! Can I contact Hell?

GOD: Roll for deception.

Crowley: What? I'm just asking them for information.

GOD: While sitting beside a member of the opposition.

Crowley: Oh! Right! <rolls> Right, with my charisma, that's pretty much higher than any of the Lords of Hell.

Aziraphale: <snorting> Of course it is.

GOD: A demon responds. It identifies itself as Dagon, Lord of the Files.

Crowley: Right... right... <riffles notes> Okay. I say I'm checking in about the Hellhound.

GOD: Dagon says it was released and should be there. They ask if something is wrong.

Crowley: Er... I lie. I say I can see it and that it's big and scary. I... Dagon's charisma isn't that high. Even if she gets 20, I'm still higher, so we're good, yeah?

GOD: Dagon takes your word for it.

Crowley: <sags> Right. So the dog definitely isn't here?

GOD: No.

Aziraphale: But that doesn't make sense. It was meant to show up for the Antichrist and Warlock's the... oh... oh no...

Crowley: <pained> Wrong boy.

Aziraphale: Wrong boy...

Mary: WHAT THE FUCK??? No! I delivered it! I delivered the Antichrist! WHAT!?!?

GOD: Good round guys. We'll continue next week.

Mary: NO! No, what??? WHAT???

GOD: :)


	22. Divine Inspiration

"I presume," Aziraphale said without so much as a preamble, "that you have some explaining to do."

Crowley frowned at him, as he flopped down on the sofa. "About what?"

The angel pursed his lips. "Yesterday, while on my way to the Strand, do you know what I saw?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

The angel folded his hands prissily in his lap. That was never good. He was assuming Teacher Mode and about to launch into a Telling Off. The capitals practically clanged into place. "I saw a bus."

Crowley squinted at him, non-plussed. "It happens," he said, lost. "In a city and whatnot."

Aziraphale didn't look impressed. "The bus is not the point. I'm more concerned about what was on the _side_ of the bus."

"Uh... huh?" Crowley made the universal sign to speed the conversation up a bit.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Crowley!" Aziraphale spluttered. "What the hell were our faces doing on the side of a _bus_ in the middle of London?"

The clock ticked ominously in the background.

"On a bus?" he echoed. "Us?"

"You and I and..." The angel snapped his fingers agitatedly. "Something about 'Omens'. It was far too human to be celestial or diabolical design... and judging by the look on your face, you know exactly what it is."

"Er," said Crowley.

"Crowley! What's going on?"

Crowley flailed a hand. "S'not my fault!" he burst out. He paused, regrouped, considered the validity of the statement. "Okay, _technically_ the bus thing isn't my fault. But I... er... Imight'veinspiredabookaboutus."

Aziraphale rose like a thunderhead. "You what?"

"It was the 80s!" Crowley babbled. "Ran into a bloke down the pub. We had a brew or two or six or... there was alcohol involved. Got talking to him and everything. Ran into him and his mate a few months later. His mate laughed himself silly and said we even dressed alike. So we... look, I didn't know they were actually listening to a word I say! No one listens to a word I say! And then they made it into a book! Wasn't- didn't plan- and now, they're making a telly show and-"

Aziraphale was very still and very, very quiet. A bit too quiet.

"Erk?" Crowley inquired.

"I cannot believe this," the angel said slowly.

"Look, we can probably try and top it..." Crowley offered meekly.

Aziraphale stared at him. "What?"

"What?"

"I can't believe you encouraged a book and didn't give me a copy!"

Crowley peered up at him. "I didn't think you'd want it."

The angel made a pfft noise, gesturing madly around him. "In what world wouldn't I want a book, inspired by you and about _us_?"

A slow, helpless grin slid across Crowley's face. "Yeah?"

"Yes!" Aziraphale exclaimed, though he held up a finger. "Though I shan't forgive you for the televisual show."


	23. Old-Fashioned Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special birthday edition for the server anniversary

"What's going on?" Crowley hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Aziraphale winced helplessly. "Young Adam asked about our birthdays," he confided. "I wasn't sure how to explain that we weren't technically _born_ , so much as... you know... crafted from celestial will. I thought he might try it himself."

"Yeah?" Crowley warily glared around at the throng of humans. "And? What's all this?"

The fires of panic glowed in Aziraphale's eyes. "We're having a birthday party."

"*We*?"

"Well, I wasn't about to do it alone, was I?" His hand latched onto Crowley's arm. "And don't you dare bugger off."

Crowley hissed half-heartedly. "So I have to play nice?"

"And play the games and..." Aziraphale waved over towards a towering inferno of cake in the corner of the room. "Have a slice of that."

"Hello, Mr Crowley!" Adam approached with a grin. "Happy birthday."

"Ngh," Crowley informed him.

"Since you're old," the Antichrist said, "we're doing an old-person kind of birthday."

Crowley shot a wary look at Aziraphale. "What's a 'old person' birthday?" he asked in an undertone as they were ushered towards the mountainous cake studded with candles.

"How should I know?" Aziraphale shot back anxiously. "I've never been to one!"

Crowley had a sinking feeling that he should've legged it as soon as he saw the banner. The feeling only intensified as the motley collection of humans started tunelessly singing happy birthday, looking very pleased with themselves, right until the moment the bloody cake _exploded_.

Candles, icing and cake showered everywhere and there, in the middle of it, arms raised, wearing not much more than a smile and some cherries...

"Marjorie!" Aziraphale yelped.

"Ohhhh." Crowley glanced at the kids, who were all grinning while their parents frantically tried to shield their eyes. "That kind of old-person birthday."

The artist formerly known as Madame Tracy hiked up her breasts to scrape some buttercream out from under them. "Happy birthday, dears!"


	24. Curriculum Vitae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - work.

To any casual observer, the imposing figure of the Dowling's Nanny appeared to be looming over the mild-mannered gardener, who was kneeling by a flower bed, allegedly tending to the weeds, despite the fact his manicured hands were perfectly clean.

To any closer observer, the visible tremor of the plants and the reproachful look of the gardener at the Nanny might have seemed odd. But, since it was dinner time in the Dowling house, no one was there to see anything.

Nanny Ashtoreth took a long drag on her cigarette. "Satan's tits, I need that."

Brother Francis sat back on his heels. "Are you doing that just to intimidate them?"

Nanny Ashtoreth flicked the end of her cigarette holder, sending tobacco ash spiralling gently down into the flowerbed. "I can't imagine what you're talking about." She drew another curl of smoke into her mouth, exhaling through her nose like an imperious dragon. "That boy... if I didn't have to keep him alive, I might throttle him."

"Dare I ask?"

She pursed her lips. "I had to _skip_."

"With a rope?"

Nanny gave him a chilly stare. "No."

The gardener absolutely definitely didn't snort into his fist, shoulders shaking. "Oh dear."

"It's not _funny_." She huffed and ground out the cigarette on the palm of her hand, then flicked it at the chuckling gardener's head. "Please tell me you have a stash of booze somewhere."

Which is why, some fifteen minutes later, they were sprawled in the well-worn armchairs in the gardener's cottage, both several glasses into a lovely red that the gardener had... borrowed from the big house.

"Hardly," the gardener insisted. "Bottom wiping is far from worst."

"Ha!" Nanny snorted. "Like you've done any!"

The gardener, who had considerably fewer visible teeth than he'd had in the garden, made a face. "That shows what you know. I was _meant_ to be dealing with Thomas More, but Henry got wind of my presence and I was elevated to Royal Bottom Wiper."

Nanny spluttered into her drink. "Hypocrite the eighth? You wiped his arse?"

"Sadly, yes," the gardener sighed. "He wasn't very grateful either."

"I'm shocked by this revelation," Nanny said dryly.

"You see?" the gardener said. "Bottom-wiping could always be worse. I mean, surely you've done more unpleasant jobs."

Nanny chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail. "Restoration orange seller," she said finally.

Brother Francis frowned. "What? Really? Free plays _and_ fruit?"

"And more hands on than the worst kind of Faith Healer." Nanny made a face. "For all their fancy education, those so-called gentlemen had a lot of difficulty with the word 'no'."

"Oh." Brother Francis winced. "That sounds dreadful."

"I mean, I scared the seven shades of shit out of them when they tried," she said with a dismissive wave. "That part, I enjoyed." She grinned. "I do like a job where I get to scare people."

"Obviously." The gardener chuckled. "I think my favourites were my roles as food taster." He sighed wistfully. "I had this splendid run in the Persian courts. Honestly, the things they did with saffron and pine nuts were remarkable."

"Persia?" Nanny leaned forward. " _You_ were a food taster in _Persia_?"

Brother Francis nodded. "For several years. I needed access to the royal court for various reasons and I thought I might as well mix business with pleasure."

Nanny's scarlet nails rattled on her glass. "Aren't you immune to poisons?"

The gardener smiled serenely. "I believe so."

"And you didn't think this might be a problem as a food taster?"

"Why would it be?" he inquired. "I tasted all the food for them and it was lovely."

Nanny licked the inside of her cheek. "Okay. Here's the thing. Why did you leave your position in the Persian court?"

"Well..." Brother Francis frowned pensively. "Several of the rulers died in rapid succession."

" _How_?"

He looked puzzled. "I heard mention of poison."

Nanny made a circling gesture with one hand, as if encouraging him to pick up the speed of his train of thought, eyebrows rising.

"Oh!" Brother Francis clasped a hand to his heart. "Oh no!"

"There it is." Nanny subsided back in her chair.

"I was meant to be tasting for _poison_?"

"Pretty much."

This cataclysmic error, so dire and terrible that it cost the lives of three successive rulers of the Persian Empire, could be summed up in the single guilty word of an angel.

"Whoops."


	25. Refresher Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is: Bosses and Supervisors

"Honestly, Gabriel, this isn't necessary."

Gabriel lofted an eyebrow at the Principality. "Sure it is!" he said, giving Aziraphale a hearty slap on the back as they walked through the dusty streets of the town. "Now, I'm not saying you haven't been doing _great_ work, but sometimes, you just need someone to show you how it's done. You gotta give them some razzle dazzle! A bit of flare! Put the fear of the boss into them."

Aziraphale smiled politely. "It's very kind of you, but ... but have you been around humans much lately?"

Gabriel snorted. "As if. But humans are humans, right? Same as always. Fleshbag, arms, legs, head, all..." He waved his hands dramatically. "You know. Awed and revering of the messengers of the Almighty?"

"Well, they're not-"

"Come on, buddy!" Gabriel squeezed his shoulder. "Don't tell me you've been playing chicken with them again? We don't need to treat them with kid gloves! We're the powerful forces here. They're just monkeys on promotion."

The Principality's face reddened. "I'm- I don't think I played chicken, as you put it. I just… talk to them in a way-"

"A way that makes you look human." Gabriel tsked, pulling the angel around to face him and squeezing his upper arms. " _You_ are an _angel_. A _messenger_. They should be cowering before us, quailing on fear and awe."

"I know that but-"

"But you've been down here too long," Gabriel insisted. "Treating them gently." He shook his head. "We need to give it some chutzpah and this job is a big deal. The Boss wants it done right."

"I could-"

"Not this time, buddy. I'm going to show you how you should be doing it, not this half-assed, human-friendly... stuff you've been doing."

Aziraphale twisted up his mouth, but nodded, folding his hands tightly together. "If you insist," he agreed meekly. "May I watch?"

Gabriel beamed at him. "That's why I brought you." He stopped outside the house in question. It was a plain mud-brick thing, small windows and a crude wooden door. By the thin moonlight it looked blue. "Now, here's how it's done."

He stepped through the matter of the building – leaving Aziraphale standing on a step to watch through the window – and drew on his true form. It was pretty good. He'd made sure of it. Spinning wheels of fire. Eyes bright as stars. The roar like thunder. All the perfect storm of fear and dread-inducing things.

"BE NOT AFRAID!" He boomed, flooding the house with light.

The girl he'd come to see leapt out of her bed with a scream, just as he planned.

And then threw a bucket of water all over him.

His spinning wheels hissed out and the girl screamed and hit him with the bucket.

"Ow!"

"DEMON!" she screamed, hitting him again. "Get out!"

It took almost an hour, several frantic shapeshifts, and a lot of yelling to make her listen and take the memo that yes, she was about to be the mother of the Almighty's child. And that was when she grabbed the nearest clay pitcher and brought it down hard on his head and started screaming about the pervert in her house.

When he finally managed to break free, and merged back outside, Aziraphale was waiting there, hands folded modestly before him.

"How did it go?"

Gabriel eyed him with suspicion, but there was nothing but guileless helpfulness all over Aziraphale's pink-cheeked face. "She's a feisty one," he grudgingly admitted, wondering how much the Principality had seen after his wheels went out. "But the message was delivered."

"Yes." Aziraphale nodded gravely. "Yes, you did a marvellous job."

No one ever asked why Gabriel stopped doing refresher training on earth. Only one other angel and his hysterically-laughing demon friend knew why.


	26. Far From The Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt: The Them.

"You probably should do something," Eric advised.

The human - oblivious to his presence, but definitiely not oblivious to the easy temptation, huffed and jabbed at the ground with his stick.

"I mean, if you just leave it, it's going to get worse, isn't it?" The demon swung his feet back and forth, perched on the fence of the orchard. "Got to make sure you keep them in their place." He leaned forward, grinning, and added, "Young hoodlums."

That was the thing that nailed it.

The man marched off, brimming over with seething rage.

R. P. Tyler. White mid-age apparent male. Tendencies to: pride, greed, avarice and envy. Very easy to nudge if you pressed specific buttons: his property, his town, his pet and, apparently, apples.

Eric picked a bit of brimstone from between his teeth with a sharp nail.

It was like the demon Crowley had been saying to _years_. You didn't need to do much to spread it around and R.P. Tyler was like a fart in a lift. If you were stuck in the same little town as him, he'd get his stink all over you and piss you right off. Like those thingies with the dots on them. Push one and they all fall down.

"Hello."

Eric yelped and almost fell off the fence.

The human child standing there grinned at him. He had gaps in his teeth and mud on his nose. "How does your hair do that?" he asked.

Right. So here's the thing about humans. Sometimes, when they're still young enough to believe in monsters, they can sometimes still see demons. Not very often, but sometimes and apparently, today was sometimes.

"Eh?" Eric said.

"Your hair," the boy said. "It's sticking up! Like bunny ears!" He made a gesture with two fingers.

"Er..." The demon reached up and patted his hair. "Dunno. Just does it."

"Cool." The human climbed up to sit on the fence beside him. "D'you like apples?"

Eric eyed him. "Are you the little bugger who's been stealing Mr. Tyler's stuff?"

The boy's grin widened. "Yeah. Want to have one?"

Eric couldn't help laughing in delight. A human? Tempting him to steal? "What for?"

The boy gave him a look that suggested he was stupid. "To _eat_ , obviously."

Eat?

"How do I do that?" Eric inquired.

"Pfft. It's easy! Don't you know how to eat?"

The demon shook his head. As angels, they didn't require Gross Matter and as demons, it was better not to ask about the canteen. "Don't really need to."

The boy huffed, dropping down from the fence and reaching up to grab Eric's hand. "Come on! I'll show you! It's the best!"

Eric trotted after him. "You'll get in trouble," he said.

The boy shrugged. "Yeah, but I'll've had an apple."

Eric glanced back at the fence. Another garden, he thought, and forbidden fruit. Nice to see humanity was consistent.

The boy let go of his hand, scrambling up the knotted trunk of one of the trees and grabbing a couple of apples. They came away in his hand, bright and red, and he dropped back down onto the grass, trotting back to Eric.

"Have a bite," he said, holding out one. "They're best right now."

Eric could never really say why he listened to the little human. Or why he bit the round red thing. He did, however, make a frantic squeaky noise when sweet, sharp sticky juice filled his mouth and the crispy prickle of it on his tongue was like magic.

"See?" the boy said, beaming. "Worth it."


	27. Greenfingered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt - Tentacles

This is the story of a button.

The angel squirmed with a small, breathy gasp of pleasure.

"FSGH!" Crowley said.

Perhaps we should venture back to the beginning.

"Oh!" Aziraphale squeaked in surprise.

No, wait, earlier still.

A cottage in the South Downs. The Devil's Dyke close at hand. A small conservatory at the back and in the garden, a lush, verdant greenhouse. And, in that greenhouse, a pleasantly drowsy angel.

He had taken to sleeping like a duck to water.

Not often, of course, but the occasional nap was quite the thing. In this case, an afternoon doze in the snug armchair in the conservatory. Once he was done, he'd shambled amiably down to the greenhouse to find Crowley.

Instead, he'd eased his way between the plants, catching his trousers on the shelves and exclaiming in surprise when the button hooking the back of his braces pinged off among the pottery.

You see?

For the want of a button, the braces came loose, which was all very embarrassing, since the angel had entire given himself over to louche gentlemens' wear. He inched sideway, precariously holding his trousers up with one hand.

"Crowley?"

It seemed the demon wasn't present in the greenhouse at all, certainly not to help him look for his now-rogue button. It had rolled between the pots quite covertly, the beige colouring rendering it nearly invisible.

If not for that button, the angel might not have ended up on his hands and knees, inching his way along the floor of the greenhouse.

Of course, one could always miracle a new button, but it was the principle of the thing. That was an entirely unique button and the cause of an entirely different set of problems.

Aziraphale didn't initially notice the stirring of the vines. Why would he? His familiarity with plants was limited to gardens and the plants there rustled all the time. Even he, however, could not miss the sudden and unexpected brush of a long tendril over his ankle.

Kneeling up, he peered over his shoulder, surprised to see plants considerably closer than they had been. Ripe, plush plants with unfurling tendrils and stalks.

"Hello there..." he murmured. "You must be Crowley's newest acquisitions." The plants vibrated with interest as he reached out and stroked the long, firm leaves. "Aren't you lovely? He warned me all about you."

Some clarification may be required. This is a tale of a button, but there is a judicious amount of plant involvement too.

Specifically plants who rather like fond affections and swarmed eagerly over the petting angel. Who charmed and amused, returned on his hunt for his lost button, thoroughly embraced in the tangle of coils.

Quite what happened in the next few moments does not require much in the way of explanation, but when an angel - whose braces are unhooked - is crawling amid a tangle of vines with a rather firm and determined grip, certain... accoutrements might happen to slide loose.

"Oh, you naughty things," the angel laughed as vines coiled onto skin instead. And a little more thoughtfully, he tugged the hem of his shirt a little higher. After all, he and Crowley had a new kind of arrangement and the plants were indeed a part of it. Or were meant to be as soon as they were ripe enough.

As a particularly keen vine splayed between his thighs, he couldn't help giggling at the thought that they were being positively fruity.

Some twenty minutes later, Crowley entered the greenhouse.

And stepped back out, red in the face, to take a breath before stepping back in.

Half-suspended, Aziraphale had been laid out on the only clear table like a lamb for sacrifice, roiling coils of vines slithering under his body and twined around his limbs, splaying him out flat.

And so we return to the beginning.

"Angel!" Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale turned a beatific smile. "Ah, hello, darling," he said, tilting his head into the caressing stroke of an enthusiastic tendril. "Your little shrubberies were being very helpful!"

"Helpful?" Crowley echoed as a vine slid suggestively and Aziraphale gave a happy moan.

"Oh yes," the angel sighed, crooking his fingers in invitation. "They helped me find my lost button."

The demon stared, as the plants continued to lavish the angel with their attention, his own trousers getting tighter by the moment. "Is that what they're calling it these days?" he inquired weakly.

Aziraphale met his eyes with an innocent look and sucked a vine into his mouth.


	28. An Extra Set of Hands

"Did you bring the wine?"

A hunted look crossed Crowley's face. "Wine?"

Aziraphale eyed him. Yes, things were rather trying, what with the impending apocalypse and days spent constantly in the proximity of the Antichrist, but it wasn't like Crowley to forget his share. "You said you would bring some this evening?"

"Uh... nope. Don't think I did."

The angel pinched the bridge of his nose. "This morning," he reminded him gently. "After breakfast in the kitchen. I mentioned the rather nice red the Dowlings had been ignoring for six months. You said you'd get it."

Now, the demon looked completely baffled. "I wasn't in the kitchen after breakfast," he said. "Warlock was having a tantrum upstairs. Didn't get away for my coffee until ten."

Aziraphale frowned. "But we had the eggs. You were very dry about young Ned putting brown sauce all over them."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't. Again, tantrum. Upstairs."

Well, this certainly wasn't making any sense. Aziraphale sat down on the overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. "Well, one of us is clearly wrong. Perhaps you haven't been getting enough sleep lately? Getting your days mixed up?"

"Says the person who doesn't know the difference between night and day!" Crowley protested indignantly. "Why d'you assume that _I'm_ wrong?"

"Because I'm clearly right," Aziraphale huffed.

"Like hell you are!" Crowley exclaimed heatedly, whipping off his glasses. "I'm telling you, I was in the buggering nursery for three hours this morning. No eggs. No brown sauce." he held up a hand emphatically. "And look!"

Aziraphale peered at his hand. "What am I looking at?"

"He _bit_ me!"

Both of them examined Crowley's unmarked hand.

"Anyway!" Crowley dropped his hand. "Not the point. Ask anyone. I was in the nursery. S'not like I could be in two places at..." He slowly blinked. "Oh. Oh shit."

"What?" Aziraphale demanded waspishly.

"What time were you expecting me?"

Aziraphale glanced at the small mantle clock. "Eight," he admitted. "I was rather surprised when you arrived so early."

Crowley uttered a strangled groan, sinking his face into his hand. "Right. Yeah. Okay, so-"

Someone opened the door and Aziraphale froze in his seat. His Brother Francis disguise had been dispatched for the night and normally, no one came near his little cottage except Crowley.

He turned from Crowley to the door, then blinked owlishly.

"Got the-" Crowley at the door held up a bottle, then paused, staring. "Ah, fuck."

"Crowley?" Aziraphale inquired, absolutely keeping his voice very calm and very even and not even a little bit shrill. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"Uh," Crowley at the door said.

"Yeah," Crowley in the armchair said, grimacing. "This is a thing."

Door version was gaping. "Oh you stupid _bastard_. What did you do?"

Chair held up a hand. "Don't blame me! I'm not the one that said it'd be much easier if we had two sodding sets of hands!"

"If I said it, then you said it two, you berk."

"Oh sweet Heavens," Aziraphale murmured weakly, sinking back into the armchair.

"Angel?" Both Crowleys said at once.

Aziraphale looked from one to the other. "I think I may need something considerably stronger than wine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The week's prompt was Clones :D I just didn't want to ruin the surprise by putting it at the top ;)


	29. A Tight Squeeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is **Tiny**

The angel _was_ in the bookshop.

Crowley could feel him, lurking – no, lingering – about somewhere. His presence was definitely about. He frowned, setting the bottle down on the table. "Angel?"

When no reply came, he wandered through from the back of the shop, peering into all the nooks and crannies. Something was pulling at his attention, as if someone was shouting his name through water or something.

A wiggle of movement at the bottom of a bookshelf made him turn sharply.

Wouldn't be mice or rates, not in the shop. They wouldn't dare.

Something small and pale and...

"Oh fucking hell, angel," Crowley groaned, crossing the floor and crouching down by the bottom of the bookshelf. Two tiny legs frantically kicked, tiny brown shoes tapping inaudibly on the floorboard.

There was a gap at the bottom of the bookshelf, maybe an inch high. Enough for a miniscule angel to start wiggling through and get himself very, very stuck.

"What the hell were you doing?" Crowley inquired, sinking down on one knee. A sense of exasperation washed over him. "Okay, yeah. Get you out, first then you can explain what possessed you." He caught the little legs, each as thin as his finger, and tugged.

A sound like air leaking from a balloon came from under the shelf.

"Don't you shout at me," Crowley retorted. "I'm trying!" He changed his grip, wrapping one hand around both legs. "Suck everything in."

Another tug, but the angel was well and truly wedged under the shelf.

Crowley sat down heavily. "I could move stuff off the shelf," he suggested, looking at the towering mess of papers, books and scrolls, but knew the answer even as he said it. No miracles, just in case, not to Aziraphale preciously ordered first editions.

He gave one of the twitching legs a nudge with his finger.

Aziraphale gave a weak kick.

"D'you think you could go smaller?"

The tiny squeak from below was undoubtedly something rude.

"No, not gnat size, you idiot." Crowley tugged his leg again, more gently. "Maybe half an inch. Enough so you can squeeze out."

In his grip, the leg shifted, shrinking a fraction.

At once, Crowley tugged him out and the tiny angel – covered in dust and coughing up a storm – rolled onto his back. He lay there huffing and panting, clearly worn out.

Gently, Crowley scooped him up, sliding fingers under his neck and knees to lift him enough to get a third finger under his back. Arranging the angel in his palm, he carried him through to the kitchen.

"You'll need a bath to get all that dust off," he said, sitting Aziraphale down gently beside the cherub soap dish on the lip of the sink. Aziraphale nodded, sending up another cloud of dust and sneezing.

Crowley turned on the tap, sticking the plug in the sink. It didn't take long for the water to reach a decent level, by which point, Aziraphale had fumbled his way, shaking with effort out of his clothes.

Graciously, Crowley offered a finger to help him down into the water.

Aziraphale sank up to his neck with a small sound of relief.

Pulling up a chair, Crowley sat beside the sink and scooped handfuls of water over him, washing the dust and cobwebs off his hair. He broke off a small wedge of soap, handing it down and watched with amusement as Aziraphale scrubbed himself.

When he was ready to get out, Crowley held down the towel and the angel climbed back into his cupped hands, wrapping himself up like a bird roosting.

"How long had you been stuck under there" he inquired, carrying Aziraphale through to the back room and sitting down on the couch. Aziraphale held up one small hand, four fingers raised. "Hours?" An emphatic nod. "Eugh."

And not once, Crowley couldn't help thinking with a smile, had he thought to go a bit smaller. Then again, the angel wasn't one to change his habits and changing form must've taken a lot out of him.

So much so, he realised with astonishment, that Aziraphale had tugged the towel over himself like a blanket and gone to sleep.

"Uh..." He looked from the nested angel in his hands to the couch to the cushions. Right. How to set him down without waking him. Cautiously, he leaned down, bracing one elbow then the other, and slowly, slowly slid his hands out from under the nest.

Aziraphale didn't stir, snuggled into the damp towel. Crowley dried it with a quick miracle. "Oh, angel," he murmured fondly. "What am I going to do with you?"

While Aziraphale slept, Crowley shuffled across the floor on his knees to retrieve the wine, keeping one eye on the angel just in case he decided to do a kamikazi roll off the couch and splatter himself on the floor.

He didn't.

Didn't even move.

Not even as Crowley made a game effort to work his way through the bottle of red, follow by a nice rose from the other side of Aziraphale's desk. Or, when he felt a bit bolder about a sleeping angel's lack of lemming tendencies, the sherry from the cupboard.

The sherry was a mistake. Big one. Sleepy-making one.

Made him put his head down beside the little angel nest. Keep him safe. Only falling on Crowley-face and not floor. Only a little rest.

Bad stupid lying eyes.

Woke up to something jabbing his cheek and swatted it off before brain reconnected.

"Shit!"

Upside-down angel glared at him from the back of the couch. He rolled over and flapped his hands, shooing Crowley back. Crowley fell over on his arse, forcing all the booze back into its bottles.

The tiny angel abruptly turned into a big angel, still naked and pink, with the scrap of towel pointlessly draped over his lap.

"You didn't have to swat me," Aziraphale huffed.

"I was sleeping!" Crowley protested. "And you were too! Last I looked!" He looked the angel up and down. "Why the hell did you shrink yourself anyway?"

"Ah." Aziraphale turned pinker. "Well... I..." He pursed his lips. "You'll laugh at me."

"I always laugh at you," Crowley pointed out.

That got him a crooked smile. "I suppose." He glanced in the direction of the shelves. "I lost a button."

"A button?"

The angel nodded, twisting his fingers together. "From my waistcoat. It- the thread snapped and it rolled under the shelf and now-" He shook his head. "It's not _right_ without it."

Oddly enough, it made perfect sense. And Aziraphale would never want to replace the button with a different one, especially not a _new_ one.

"Wait here," Crowley said, rolling to his feet.

He headed back to the same block of shelves, considered it, then shrank himself down to half the size Aziraphale had been and ducked under the narrow gap at the bottom of the shelves. It was filthy under there and he covered his face with his sleeve.

Right. Victorian silver florin. Several half crowns. A silk handkerchief. Crowley sniggered. So this was where Aziraphale's magic tricks went to die. He waded on through the webs and dust until he spotted it.

At his current size, it was almost as big as his torso and took both arms to carry it back out into daylight.

Aziraphale was kneeling, full-dressed, beside the shelves when he emerged.

Crowley held up the button to him, yelping in surprise when both he and the button were scooped up in the angel's soft, manicured hand.

"Thank you, my darling," Aziraphale said, voice thick with emotion.

Crowley leaned sideway and wrapped an arm around his thumb, giving it a squeeze. "S'all right, angel," he said in a voice so high only dogs could hear it, but Aziraphale seemed to understand all the same.


	30. Fresh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: **That's not how you use …**

"Blimey."

"Upgraded a bit, haven't they?"

Primo nodded appreciatively. "Marble and gold _and_ those sparkling things on the roof? Nice. Very nice."

Cundy - Secundo - clattered back down the stairs. "You," he said, eyes wide and hands flapping, "are not gonna believe what they've got up here!"

Primo glanced at Teric - he refused to just be called Tertio, the dopey prat - who was chewing on a flower he'd yanked out of a vase. "Oi!"

Teric grinned at him, petals in his teeth. "What?"

"You know what they said about eating human stuff. I don't want Hastur shaking us down again because you couldn't keep your mouth shut."

Teric shoved the end of the stem in his mouth. "S'a plant," he said smugly. "Don't count as 'gross matter'." He trotted up the stairs alongside Primo. "Anyway, Hastur's such a grumpy bastard, he'd do it anyway."

At the top of the stairs, Cundy was bouncing on his toes. "C'mon!" He flapped a raggedy sleeve. "This is _so_ much better than last century!"

Primo and Teric exchanged looks. Splitting didn't exactly… divide their brains, but it definitely put the sugar-hyped toddler brains straight into Cundy. Every chance they were about to see some shiny pillows. Or - there had been that one time - a brick.

Cundy ran on ahead, ignoring and ignored by the humans rubbing the carpet with a buzzing tube. He stopped in a doorway, waving his hands dramatically into a room and as soon as they stepped in, Primo whistled in admiration.

More marble, but this stuff shiny white all over. Big polished mirrors across a wall. A giant baptistry in the corner, big enough for all three of them to fit if they wanted. And even more gold.

"Look!" Cundy pointed at a button on the wall. "Watch this!"

He prodded the button and in the gold bowl on the wall, a gush of water poured out, swirling away down a tube and when it stopped moving, the water was the same level again.

"A water pump?" Teric sounded unimpressed. "That's what you're so excited about?"

"No!" Cundy exclaimed. "This! It's a guzunder!"

Primo eyed him suspiciously. "Nah. How you meant to chuck it out the window? It's stuck to the wall."

"You _don't_!" Cundy exclaimed. "I watched the humans. They sit and do their wotsits on it and press the button and whoosh! The water takes it away!"

That, Primo thought approvingly, made sense. Definitely explained the lack of human squish smells.

"And they got a little water pump!" Cundy added eagerly, dashing over to a pair of deep marble bowls on the wall. He turned golden knobs and crystal clear water poured out of them, pure and bright as fresh spring water. "And feel!" He grabbed Primo's hand and shoved it.

"Ow!"

"Hot, innit?"

"What about this?" Teric demanded.

"Er..." Cundy frowned. "Dunno."

Primo wandered over to peer at it. Looked a bit like the guzunder, but didn't have the big tube for all the water. "What does the lever thingie do?" he inquired, pointing.

Teric pulled it, a gush of water hitting him in the face.

"Oh!" Cundy clapped his hands in delight. "It's a drinking fountain."

"Eh?"

"They used to have 'em in some of the streets. You put your face down and got a drink."

Teric took a mouthful and gargled it, then spat out a mess of flower bits and leaf. "S'all right. Bit better than London, but not any flavour." He raised his eyebrows. "Want some, P?"

Primo shook his head. "I'll taste it when Hastur squeezes it out of us, ta."

Teric shrugged. "Your loss," he said and wrapped his mouth around the pump and gushed water into his mouth until it dribbled down his chin. Cundy started giggling and Teric snorted, spraying it everywhere.

"You two are idiots," Primo rolled his eyes fondly. "Come on. We've got work."

Teric started to get up. "Er. How do you make it stop?"

"What?"

"The water?"

The fountain was filling up.

"Er..." Primo glanced between them. "Right. All in one?"

At once, they were Eric again.

"That didn't help, did it?" he observed.

The water was spilling over onto the floor.

Fair enough. If you can't fix a problem, then leave it to be someone else's.

He bolted for the door and out.


	31. Hung Up On The Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is pegging!

"Really?" Aziraphale said. "Are you sure?"

Crowley nodded at once. "Always wanted to try it. And saves the need for efforts, eh?"

"Well..." The angel frowned in thought. "I suppose it can't hurt to give it a go. I'll get the necessary bits and pieces at the weekend." He shook his head. "Honestly. What will humans come up with next?"

Crowley curled around him, tucking his face into Aziraphale's belly. "Dunno, but we're going to try it all."

The angel chuckled and smoothed his hair. "At least once, yes, dear."

_________________

Foreplay was a hell of a thing. They always did a lot of it. Not on purpose, but because it was messy and fun and Crowley liked to try and whip an orgasm or two out Aziraphale well before they got down to business. Didn't always manage, but the angel took it as a challenge.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Aziraphale demanded breathlessly, riffling through the bedside cabinet drawer. "I know you wanted to but-"

"Get on with it, angel!" Crowley moaned. "I'm all lubed up with nowhere to go."

Aziraphale kissed him on the shoulder. "Let me know if this is all right."

There wasn't any nice press of penetration. Not even a rub of it. Just a sudden and excruciatingly tight pinch on his bollocks.

Crowley screeched and shot off the bed.

"THE FUCK?!"

He groped down between his legs and found whatever the hell it was that was biting him. It had a fucking _spring_ in the middle of it. He squeezed it open and pulled it off his balls, bringing it up in front of him to stare in horror.

Aziraphale stared at him, mortified. "Oh dear. I think I misinterpreted. Isn't this pegging?"

Crowley held up the bright yellow clothes peg. "NO. NO IT IS NOT!"


	32. Saucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is Sauces

"What's this?" Anathema peered at the list.

She didn't expect both demon and angel to turn puce and immediately turn into the world champion synchronised floor and ceiling inspection team.

  
"It's - ah - we're shaking things up. Trying some new flavours."

The witch raised an eyebrow, scanning the items. Soy sauce, curry sauce, ketchup, mayonnaise, gravy, golden syrup...

"Sweet _and_ savoury," she looked between them and it. "What the hell are you putting them on?"

If it was possible, both angel and demon went even deeper shades of red.

"Is this...?" She shoved the list back at them. "Ew. I don't need to know about your food play kink or what you're smearing all over each other!"

"Then you shouldn't go through our stuff!" Crowley exclaimed, snatching the list. "And no! We're not 'smearing it all over each other'! Eugh! Humans! You lot are so filthy." He caught the angel by the arm. "Come on, angel. Let's leave the perverts to it."

Outside the cottage, Aziraphale exhaled an explosive breath. "Why did you leave it lying around?"

Crowley folded the bit of paper up. "I just put it down for a minute!"

"In front of a witch," Aziraphale huffed. "A _clever_ witch! She wasn't entirely wrong, Crowley!"

The demon gave him a crooked grin as they walked back towards the Bentley. "Did you want to be the one to tell her what we were testing the flavours for?"

Aziraphale's lips did that little twitch. "I still maintain we can't use ketchup. Honestly, the way you had to smack the bottom of the bottle to get it to come out really doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Could smack your bottom," Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale coughed to cover a laugh. "Or you could just squeeze and shake it out. I'm not made of glass."

The demon grinned at him. "Don't tempt me.


	33. The Grand Tour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt: IKEA

"The arrow says this way, dear."

Crowley let out one of those lovely groan-growls of frustration. "We don't _have_ to follow the arrows, angel! It's a guideline, not a rule!"

All the same, Aziraphale turned his - well, their - trolley very deliberately in the direction of the arrow and proceeded into bedding area. And, of course, maintained the very precise pace that he had utilised all the way through the upper level of the shop.

He knew Crowley's long-legged strides very well. He knew his haste. He knew that this shop had been picked for both those things.

And he knew pausing to circle around every single island of shelves to examine every single item was now doing a very, very good job of driving the demon quite batty.

"You don't _need_ bedding!" Crowley wailed.

"You never know," Aziraphale said innocently. "We might have company."

"Company?" Crowley enunciated the words with the same intonation with which a nun might say 'full-frontal public nudity'. " _Us_? Since _when_?"

"One never knows! Things have changed quite a lot in the past few months."

They were halfway through the lighting department and Aziraphale was trying very hard to show enthusiasm for the strange accordions of paper suspended from the ceiling when the proverbial lightbulb seemed to go on.

"You."

Aziraphale hastily turned the trolley in the direction of the next arrow and bustled on into the frame section.

"YOU!"

Crowley swung around in front of the trolley, stopping it dead, his hands curling over the end.

Aziraphale widened his eyes. "Is something the matter? Don't you want some nice new..." He glanced sideways. "Ribbas? Or perhaps a Fiskbo? I'm sure they would-"

"You absolute _bastard_."

Aziraphale demurely lowered his gaze. "Well, that's not very nice."

Crowley gave the trolley a shove, nudging it against the angel's belly. Not hard, though. Never hard. "Have you even looked at _any_ of the stuff you've been fannying about with?"

Aziraphale gave him a look and raised his eyebrows. Really, would he ever want some tattered chipboard furniture that would fall apart after a few years? " _I_ said we should find a reputable craftsman, as I recall."

"I asked if you wanted to come here!"

"No," the angel corrected primly. "You said 'let's go to Ikea' and as soon as we came in, you made noises about their dreadful bookshelves and how well they would fit in the house."

"They _would_!"

"So would a wheelie bin, but I'm not putting my books in one of them!"

One side of Crowley's mouth crooked up. "And how much longer were you going to keep this little game?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Oh, until we reached the food court."

That made Crowley sag over the trolley, shaking with mirth. "Of course. Halfway out the door."

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Well, I _do_ need to get some of those lovely liquorice sweets they have."

The demon swung back around the end of the trolley and waved grandly. "To the food court, then."


	34. Constructive Criticism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Summoning
> 
> Thank you to Ashfae for the suggestion :D

Incense fumes fugged the air, the candles flickering and dancing around the edge of the circle. Hector leafed frantically through the incantation, trying to work out what on earth he'd done wrong.

"But you have to!" he protested.

The uncannily pale demon in the circle as paring his nails with a dainty knife. "I think you'll find I don't."

Hector held up the book furiously. "It says here that I have command of you while you're bound by the circle!"

The creature leaned forward, peering at the book. "Hm."

"See!" Hector jabbed a soot-smudged finger at the text. "Right here. 'The denizen of hell shall quail in obedience'!"

To his mortification, the demon laughed. Not an evil cackle or sinister one, but a warm, amiable chuckle of amusement which was somehow much, much worse. "Oh dear."

"What?" Hector turned the book around to stare at it.

"You did very well for a first attempt," the demon said consolingly, "but I'm afraid there's been a bit of a mix-up."

"Demon, I command thee-"

"No."

"You can't say no!"

"I rather think I can." The demon extended one pointy-toed shoe and - Hector's breeches were suddenly very damp - crossed the edge of the circle. "You see?"

Hector backed away, clinging to the book. "Christ have mercy!" he squeaked.

"Ah!" The demon bared all its shiny white teeth in a feral snarl. "That's more like it. I wonder how well you remember your prayers, dear boy. How much do you want the Lord's mercy?" He clapped his hands together and circle and candles and lamps all snuffed out, plunging the room into blackness.

"JESU!" Hector shrieked, hurling himself back, stumbling over a stool and crashing to the floor. "God have mercy!"

Babbled prayers spilled out of him like water from a cracked pot and he crawled under the table, as far from the _thing_ as he could.

When his servant found him in the morning, Hector clung to him, sobbing hysterically, swearing to spend the rest of his life in prayer and reflection and never to do anything so dangerous or foolish again.

_______________________________

Crowley wouldn't stop laughing.

"Did you even _do_ anything to the stupid bastard?" he croaked out, slapping his thigh.

Aziraphale made a face. "Of course I didn't. Why bother when he was doing such a good job of it himself."

"Ha!" Crowley rocked back and forth in delight. " _Brilliant_! And the bit when he pissed his tights! Star quality."

Aziraphale's cheeks warmed and he beamed. "I actually got a commendation for it as well, you know," he said, sotto voce. "Apparently, they hadn't seen quite an impromptu burst of piety since the last saint."

"For just standing in a circle and giving him negative feedback?" Crowley poked a finger behind his glasses to wipe away a surreptitious tear of mirth. "Satan's tits, I needed that laugh."

Aziraphale hid his pleased little smile in his wine.


	35. And a Cushion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is: Inappropriate Christmas Gifts.

T'was the night that would one day be called Christmas and all through Bet Lehem, not a creature was stirring, not even a-

"Crawly!"

The demon's robes slithered through the angel's fingers as he scrambled through the small window in the mudbrick wall. Hadn't been too hard, not with the bales of hay bundled outside. He pulled his legs through and dropped down into the...

"Ah, shit," Crawly groaned, proving once again to be the master of understatement and literal observation.

A sliver of light cut across him as his pursuer cracked the door of the stable open, the creak of wood muffled by a miracle. Aziraphale peeped in cautiously, then inched into the stable as well.

There wasn't much room left between the sleeping animals, the saddles and packs, and - in the far corner - the so-called holy family.

"We shouldn't be in here," Aziraphale hissed, leaning over the narrow bar of the stall and hauling Crawly out of the muck. "They've had a long day and they don't need more people traipsing in for a look."

Crawly shook himself free, dusting straw and animal... stuff off his robe. "They won't even notice us," he said firmly. But quietly, of course. Better to be on the safe side. He dodged Aziraphale's grab to hurry over.

The girl and her beard were lying on an arrangement of blankets and robes on the straw, both fast asleep. Crawly stepped over one then the other to reach the manger, a deep, straw-filled trough that jutted out from the wall.

A pair of solemn dark eyes stared back at him.

"Huh." Crawly squinted down at the baby. "You're what all the fuss is about?"

A hand tugged sharply on the back of his robe. "Let him sleep."

"S'already awake," the demon replied, side-stepping to let Aziraphale have a look. His foot clanked against a saddlecloth and he frowned. Nazarenes didn't tend to have threadbare saddle clothes that clinked like a rich man's. He squatted down curiously, opening the deep pockets. "Oh you've got to be joking."

He reached sideways and smacked Aziraphale on the leg.

"Ow!"

"Was this your grand idea?" Crawly demanded, holding up a jewel-studded golden box.

Aziraphale bent to peer at it. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's only funerary incense," Crawly snorted. "Nothing says 'congratulations on your newborn' like a mortician's favourite." He rattled deeper. "Oh and _more_ incense! At least this one doesn't smell like dead people."

"Crawly," Aziraphale protested. "They have _meaning_."

Crawly made a face at him, unimpressed. "Oh. _Meaning_. I'm sure the new mum, with her sore nipples and aching undercarriage and leaking little Messiah will find that so useful." He glanced furtively at the manger, then snapped his fingers.

"What are you-?" Aziraphale squeaked in alarm.

"Swaddling cloths, changes of clothes for her," Crawly replied with a snort, as he shoved the expensive shiny boxes and bottles back into the saddle-cloths. "And a cushion for her for the saddle, since I think she'll be wanting to get home."

"You _can't_ give him - them - presents! He's Holy!"

The demon grinned. "What're you going to do about it? Take away the useful little comforts? Make the poor girl sit on a hard saddle in that state?" His grin widened. "Go on, angel. Take away all the stuff that'll help them."

Aziraphale turned red, looking anxiously between the manger, the saddle and the sleeping parents.

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" he huffed, then snapped his fingers too, adding to Crawly's haul.

Crawly laughed, scrambling to his feet. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" He peeked back into the manger again, reaching in to give the snugly-wrapped baby a gentle poke. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

This time, he didn't managed to dodge the angel's grab and snickered as he was frog-marched out the stable.


	36. Arise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is: Zombies
> 
> I played very, very fast and loose with the concept :D

"Picks his moments, doesn't he?"

Aziraphale spun around, startled. "Oh! Crawly!"

The demon waggled his fingers in greeting. "Thought you'd be in there, basking in his Radiant Holiness."

The angel winced. "I'm afraid not. We're not allowed to interfere, for good or bad."

"Like giving him a memo that, oh by the way, your friend has carked it, so you shouldn't show up on Wednesday, because it's a bit tacky to turn up for the funeral meal?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips irritably. "Well... yes. That. The poor chap was _human_. We couldn't know this would be the outcome."

"Couldn't... angel, this is what happens to all of them! Every last one! Shuffling off the mortal coil and all that!" He peered over Aziraphale's shoulder. "Huh. Where're they off to?"

"What?"

The demon pointed.

The young man Aziraphale had been tasked to watch over was marching purposefully away from the house, the ash-scattered sisters trailing after him.

"D'you think we should go and see what the fuss is about?" Crawly inquired. "He looks quite excitable."

Aziraphale shot a guarded look at him. "Well, if you're going, I suppose I'll have to."

Crawly grinned as they hurried after the young man, his hosts and his flock of followers. It felt rather silly and only grew more so when Aziraphale realised they were marching towards the burial grounds on the outskirts of the small town.

"What on earth is he doing?" he demanded in an undertone.

"Search me," Crawly said. "He's a bit of an odd duck. Religious ones usually are."

Aziraphale smote him on the arm. "Be quiet!"

"Ow!"

They slunk behind one of the larger tombs, peering around the edge of the pale stone building. The young man had stopped in front of another tomb and the two sisters were weeping and wailing. The more sensible of the pair was shouting at him, something about not opening the tomb, that the body had been laid to rest for four days, to leave him.

"Bit rude, isn't he? Dragging them all the way out here," Crawly muttered.

Aziraphale was inclined to agree. And he had to admit the woman made a point about the body likely being quite... fragrant if they opened the sealed tomb up.

Still, apparently their young man was quite persuasive and a couple of his followers hauled the stone away.

"What the hell is he up to?" Crawly hissed. "Is this some new schtick?"

Aziraphale shook his head helplessly. "It's - I don't know. The bread and fish was unusual, but this is... it's not very respectful."

The young man in question didn't seem to realise that and stepped forward, calling out loudly, "Lazarus! Come out!"

"Denial," Crawly muttered. "Poor bastard doesn't know how to cope with his friend-" His voice trailed off in a croak.

"Oh Lord," Aziraphale breathed. "Oh Heavens."

In the opening of the tomb, the linen-wrapped corpse was standing.

"Zombie," Crawly moaned.

"What?"

"ZOMBIE! Things rising from the dead! Bad! Very bad! Heard plans for them! Brain eating!" Crawly hiked up his robes and turned to flee.

"It can't be bad!" Aziraphale protested, grabbing the back of Crawly's robes. "Not when he's doing it!"

"Uh huh!" Crawly kicked and squirmed free. "Okay. You stay here. Let's see you get your brains eaten. I'm off!" He kicked Aziraphale hard in the shin and hared off across the cemetery, vanishing in a cloud of dust.

Aziraphale stared after him, rubbing his bruised shin. Was it possible he was right? Could it be that this was some kind of unholy act? He cautiously peeped around the edge of the tomb.

The poor chap had been unwound from his funeral linens and looked remarkably flushed and alive. His sisters were laughing through their tears now, embracing him and holding him up, and Yeshua smiled.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Crawly," the angel groaned. "Fussing over nothing, as usual."


	37. Treat You Like a Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is mix-and-match from any of our old prompts. I went for roleplay/wacky random historical things :D

"Ow!"

Crowley reared back when Aziraphale gave him a sharp clip around the ear-ish area. "Oi!"

"You bit me!"

Crowley coiled back in thick back loops, straddling the angel's thighs. "Yeah. And? Kind of the point of this, isn't it?"

Aziraphale huffed, pushing himself up on his elbows, the transparent linen of his dress sliding precariously off his shoulder and entirely baring one of the lovely big squishy breasts he was wearing today. "Yes, but there's biting and then there's _biting_."

The demon cocked his head. "Yeah. Biting with venom or biting without venom."

"What? No!" Aziraphale sat up, reaching up to steady the Uraeus crown balanced on his curls. "Darling, when I said I wanted to play the scene I was talking more... erotically. Certainly not historically accurately!"

Crowley felt like his thoughts were chugging into place like a vintage steam engine. Oh. Oh fuck. Well. Yeah. That would've been an unfortunate misunderstanding. "Ah."

The angel's lips twitched. "Do you follow?"

"Still getting used to this," Crowley admitted. Turned out Aziraphale was a hell of a lot kinkier than he'd ever given him credit for. "So you want... _biting_ as opposed to..." He bared his needle-point fangs.

A rosy flush spread across the angel's cheeks. "Well, as long as I don't end up in the hands of Augustus, I'm at your mercy."

Crowley nodded, frantically recalibrating. Right. Less dramatic suicide roleplay and more filthy bugger of an angel. All pink and soft in an almost transparent frocks and... fucking hell, how had he missed that clue?

"Erk," he told Aziraphale.

Aziraphale squashed down that wicked little bastard smile of his. "Would you like a suggestion?"

Crowley nodded helplessly.

"Very well, my silly serpent." The angel trailed his fingertips under Crowley's scaly chin, stroking gently, sending pleasant shivers down the length of Crowley's body, like static in the air before a storm. "According to all the art, perhaps you ought to begin..." His other hand slid under his exposed breast, lifting it. "Here."

Crowley promptly made the sound like a kettle boiling.

Snakes couldn't blush. Thank someone for that.


	38. 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt: Alpha Centauri, or Good Omens in Space.
> 
> Bet you can guess where I nicked this idea :D

"You can't be serious!"

Spo'snal Cenzi raised their eyestalks over the edge of their checklist. "Authorised last parsec, guv. Had to do some pretty drastic detours."

"But I live here!" the human exclaimed indignantly. "This is my home!"

Spo'snal Cenzi shrugged half their tentacles. "You'd have to take that up with planning. All complaints were meant to be in a light year ago."

The human stared in outrage, then snapped his fingers.

Another human appeared in mid-air, then landed with a thump on the floor, looking surprised and disorientated.

"Wsfgl," he said indignantly, which Spo'snal Cenzi found pretty bloody offensive, since they'd only just met and no one had the right to disparage the nest mother but them. Yellow viewing orbs squinted at Spo'snal Cenzi. "Ah, shit."

"Crowley!" The first human's voice rose in pitch. "They're planning on bulldozing earth!"

Crowley - if that was the second human's designation - staggered to his feet. "You what?"

"This... this..." The paler squashier human waved his digit stump. "This gentleman says we have to leave immediately! He says they've got plans for a ring road!"

The second human patted the first with his digit stump. "I'll handle this." He wiggled towards Spo'snal Cenzi, leaning in close. "Right, friend, let's talk pro to pro, yeah? I had a hand in building this little rock and didn't get any memos about demolition plans."

Spo'snal Cenzi peered at him. "You? A human?"

The human showed its mouth bones. "Nah. Not human. I'm as old as this place. Set the stars myself. So I want you to tell me who is buggering around with my planet, all right?" He gave Spo'snal Cenzi a cautious pat with his digit stumps. "This isn't on you. This is on them and I'm ready to take it higher."

"The stars?" Spo'snal Cenzi made a dismissive sound. " _Which_ stars?"

The human smiled at him and named them.

Half a century later, when Spo'snal Cenzi hatched their first brood, they took great pleasure in telling the kreblings about the time they met the creator and saved his retirement home from destruction in gratitude for their nebula.


	39. Crank Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt was - Prayer

Ding!

Aziraphale set his jaw, turned a page and reached for his teacup.

Ding!

On the far side of the room, a rather nice Ming vase was vibrating in place, the very thick piece of board taped over the mouth rattling ominously. The angel ignored it.

Ding!

A slow breath in, a slow breath out. He was calm. He was tranquil. He had a good book, a fine oolong and-

Ding!

"Oh for heaven's sake!" he snapped, setting down both cup and book. He crossed the floor to the vase and, pressing his hand down on the board, sliced through the tape with a letter opener.

The vase rattled sideways and he caught it, bearing it and its contents to the ground. He successfully tilted it towards the rug to hopefully at least prevent any ricochets or damage and with the utmost caution, he slid the panel of wood to the side.

Tiny shimmering balls the size of marbles spilled out, glowing and golden and getting absolutely everywhere.

The angel blew out a breath through his nose and picked the first of them up.

_Oh Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Protector of Eden, you left your phone off the hook again_

Aziraphale said something very rude and squeezed the prayer between forefinger and thumb until it popped. More of them were still cascading out of the vase, pinging quietly on arrival.

_Oh Guardian of the Gate you really should get an answer machine_

"Crowley," Aziraphale growled.

_Principality Aziraphale. You wouldn't believe the size of the pigeon on my window sill. I thought Godzilla had landed_

The crushed beads of prayer light left his hand smudged with dust. He picked up another, then another, then another.

_Oh mighty angel of Soho. Do you fancy curry tomorrow? I'm dying for a curry_

_Oh Angel of the Eastern Gate. Was there a gate, though? I thought the whole point of Eden was no one got out? I mean you made that buggering great hole, but-_

_Greetings Guardian of the Eastern bit of Wall where there should have been a gate. Hm. No. Bit of a mouthful. Nevermind_

_Hail Aziraphale, Great Principality. Have you been injured in an accident that wasn't your fault-_

The angel glared around at the spreading pool of gold. Surely not all of them were from the same source. Human prayers had somewhat frittered out over the centuries, but surely Crowley hadn't been _that_ bored.

Ding!

"Oh for crying out loud!" He scrambled to his feet and stormed through to the phone, snatching the receiver off his desk and dialling. Crowley picked up on the second ring. "Stop it! Stop it this instant."

He could hear Crowley's grin down the line. "All right, angel?"

Ding!

"Crowley!" Aziraphale wailed.

"Next time, don't leave your phone off the hook."


	40. Balancing the Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt - reporting to head office :)

“Really?” Crowley’s amused voice at his ear made Aziraphale jump almost blotting on his beautifully-written lettering. “That’s how you’re explaining it away?”

Aziraphale shot a glower at him and shifted on his cushion on the chair. “Well, I can’t say how it really happened, can I?”

The demon grinned, sprawling down onto Aziraphale’s narrow bed, tucking one hand behind the head and painting the air above him with the other. “Charismatic rogue charms the populace of London into the theatre, creating an overnight sensation that had turned theology on its head.”

The angel huffed, dipping his pen into the ink again. “Yes. Well. You did quite well.”

Crowley laughed raucously. “Quite well? _Quite_ well? Sold out for weeks, I did!”

He made a fair point and he really had gone above and beyond Aziraphale’s simple plea to keep Hamlet from sliding into obscurity. All the same, Aziraphale wished the dear fellow had waited a day before coming over to bask in well-deserved praise.

“Yes, all right, you did very well,” he allowed, adding another sentence to his report before laying down his pen. Gingerly, he turned the chair around as much as he could without jarring himself.

Crowley winced sympathetically. “Horse?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale subsided back among the cushions. “What about you? Have you submitted your report?”

Crowley held up a ragged scrap of filthy parchment that looked as if it had been dragged through several puddles, spat on and used to wipe someone’s posterior. “Persuaded a human to steal a neighbour’s cow. How did that go, by the way?”

“By the time I left, he had acquired three of them.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, impressed. “On purpose?”

Aziraphale shook his head with a chuckle. “I believe one was deliberate. The other two just happened to follow.”

Crowley fished about in his codpiece, pulling out a stub of charcoal and scratched another note onto his report. “Accidentally making me look even more brilliant than usual. Thank you, rogue cows.”

“I assume they’re not taking my glory,” Aziraphale sniffed. “How can you be sure I didn’t tempt the cows to follow him?”

Crowley lifted his head from his report, frowning. “You can do that?”

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale said blithely, eyes wide and innocent. “You know angels have a way with animals after all. Tempting a cow was hardly a challenge at all. Tempting two was just as easy.”

Crowley’s mouth opened and shut several times and Aziraphale bit down on the smile. One could practically hear the cogs and gears grinding to a halt.

“Yeah. But. No.” Crowley wagged his coal-smudged finger at him. “You’re winding me up.”

“I would never dream of it.” Still, the smile broke free and he ducked his head, grinning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but _would_ actually do it,” Crowley said, sounding amused. “Cheeky bugger.”

Aziraphale wiggled happily, then winced.

“That’s what you get,” Crowley sing-songed, scribbling at his report, “for being a smart… arse.”

“Oh do shut up.”


	41. A Little Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt - Wall Slam

"Right." The demon Crowley cleared his throat and scrambled to his feet. "So. This is awkward."

Beelzebub stared down at him. More specifically, they stared _down_ at him. Dripping as he was on the floor. "You're leaking, demon Crowley," they observed.

The demon Crowley groped down behind his bare rear, bringing up fingers smeared with some kind of white discharge. "Oh that bastard..."

Beelzebub rubbed the middle of their forehead with a fingertip. " _Why_ are you here?" they demanded. Especially in Beelzebub's throne room. Even more particularly, why stark naked?

"Uh." He peered down at himself, then turned round and round on the spot, like a demonling trying to catch its tail. An impressive hole bored through his back. "There _was_ a wall, I'm pretty sure. Must've hit something."

"Demon Crowley!" Beelzebub snapped. "What the Heaven is going on? You were granted your freedom. Why have you returned?"

The very naked spinning demon slowed to a halt. "Discorporated, I think."

Beelzebub's nails rattled on the arm of the throne. " _What_?"

He gave them a crooked grin. "Any chance I can get a new one?"

Oh, this was a turn up for the books.

"And why would we do that?"

For the first time, Crowley really seemed to notice who they were standing in front of, the distracted air giving way to a foxy grin, his golden eyes gleaming. "Because otherwise, I'm going to tell you exactly what that angel did to me to leave me in this state."

Beelzebub snorted. "Do your worst, demon. I am a Prince of Hell. I have devoured the hearts of babes and dashed the brains of men upon rocks to tread them underfoot. Nothing you can say will disturb me."

_______________________________

The summoning circles were drawn and Aziraphale hastily pushed a chair in front of the front door, just in case.

He glanced through to the back room where the very empty shell of Crowley was currently lying, cleaned up and rinsed out. Honestly, the architectural integrity of buildings in Mayfair left much to be desired.

"Righto," Aziraphale murmured, stooping to light the candles. Quite how it would work with a body mostly-dead he wasn't sure, but he had healed up what he could and now, the body simply needed an occupant.

A gasp from the back room made him jump, whirling around.

The body on the couch was sitting upright, clutching the back of the couch and drawing gulping heaving breaths.

Aziraphale glanced around, then snatched up a walking stick from the stand near the door, before cautious approaching, wielding it as he had once held his sword.

"Hello in there!"

Golden eyes swung towards him and Crowley's face - still a little rigid - stretched into a grin. "All right, angel."

Aziraphale's whole body sagged in relief. "Oh, thank goodness! Crowley!" He dropped the stick and rushed forward to help him. "My dear, are you all right?"

Crowley slowly unfolded stiffened limbs, wincing. "Better than I was."

"I'm so sorry!" Aziraphale caught his hands, massaging life back into each of them. "I had no idea the marble was so thin! And to have iron spars that close to the surface!"

He squeezed Crowley's fingers. "How on earth did you get back so quickly?"

To his surprise, Crowley laughed. "Had a little chat with Beelzebub. I'm very persuasive, me." He grinned crookedly at Aziraphale. "You owe me one," he said, curling his fingers around Aziraphale's.

"One what?" His lover's eyebrow arched upwards. "Oh!" The angel blushed. "I'm dreadfully sorry about that. I got a bit carried away and then you were gone!"

"A bit," Crowley echoed, amused. "Maybe just stick with little death next time, eh?"


	42. The Perfect Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Love Tokens.
> 
> Be warned, Summerofspock urged me to be gross, so I was. It's a bit gory.

It was their first Valentine's day and Aziraphale had to admit he was rather excited to share his gift. He handed over the ribbon-decked box and sat back, folding his hands in his lap.

Crowley gave the box and experimental shake.

It, of course, gave no suggestion of the contents. Aziraphale was no gifting amateur.

"What is it?"

"You'll have to open it to find out, dear."

Crowley grumbled fondly, but started ripping at the ribbons with great aplomb, shredding the paper along with them. He pulled off the lid and threw it one side and fished through the gauze and bubble wrap.

And went very still.

"Angel, it's dripping."

"Unfortunately, yes," Aziraphale sighed. "I tried to wring it out, but it's a bit damp."

Crowley eyed him warily. "What the fuck have I got in my hand? And do I want to take it out of the box?"

"Oh you must," Aziraphale said, beaming. "I picked it out especially."

With a wince, Crowley slowly lifted his hand out of the box, cautiously cradling the bloody lump in his hand. Of course, it didn't look as delicate and flowery as the cards did, but then, Crowley sometimes enjoyed the more visceral things.

"...that's a heart," he eventually said, staring at it.

"Yes," Aziraphale said, opening two buttons on his shirt to show the freshly healing scar. "I gave it to you."

Crowley's mouth dropped open. "Oh, you _sap_ ," he croaked, sounding more than a little choked up.

Aziaphale positively lit up. "You like it?"

"I _love_ it."


	43. Harrowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt is **Possession**
> 
> I went a bit... Biblical :)

"Really? Her?"

Cundy nodded, scratching his nose. "Don't look very roomy, does she?"

Primo made a face. "S'always the tiny ones they want." He clapped his hands. "Righto. Need to pop out a few more."

" _More_?" Teric wailed. "There's three of us already! How many do they want?"

Primo dug into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of grotty paper. "Erics," he read aloud, "get seven of your bony arses into the target and stay there as long as possible."

"Ugh." Cundy tugged the paper out his hand. "Fine for him to say it. And as if we need to be told _how_ to possess someone. Which poor buggers are always sent out there to pop into the mortal coil?"

"Us!" Teric agreed. "S'not like they ever do a hard day's evil!"

Primo clapped a hand over his gob. "Shut it," he hissed. "S'Ligur. If he hears, he'll pull our ears off again." He eyed their target. Small woman, nice house, little town called Magdalene, probably some decent things to try out. They'd eaten some fish bones and raw gizzards last time they were out. Bloody delicious. "Right. You do one each and I'll do two and in we go, right?"

____________________

"How'd'he do that?" Teric yelled. "Bloody human! Shouldn't be able to do that!"

Well, sort of Teric. Partly all of them glopped together in one big squishy lump. Teric was doing the whining. He always did. But he was right about one thing: humans didn't do that, specially not with just a hand on the forehead.

Primo gathered up energy from the extra four until he could pour free of the big lump, pulling his legs and arms back into shape like clay. "D'you think that's why they said as long as possible?"

Half of Cundy's face was poking out the remaining lump of arms and legs and bits and he was glaring. "Efff," he confirmed, as much as he could with his mouth still kind of glued into someone's spine.

Least it was over with, Primo thought, pulling his knee back around to the front of his leg and squeezing it to make it stay there.

___________________________

"Those absolute bastards!" Cundy wailed as they thundered down the hillside.

Primo would've agreed if he was trying to keep track of fifteen of them now. Fifteen of them scattered out of one buggering human and into a herd of sodding pigs! And the porkchops on legs had decided the only way to cope with this sudden invasion was to sprint off across the countryside.

Go and invade this daft beggar in Galilee, they said. It'll be fun, they said. As many of you as you can fit in, they said. That cheeky sod from Magdalene definitely might not be there, they didn't not say.

"Primo!" Teric yelled from one piggy mouth. "PRIMO!"

"What?" he screeched back.

"There's a cliff!"

Primo tried to squint through too many eyes and cloud of dust. "WHAT?"

"A cliff!"

"Ah fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu–"

________________________________

"You're not going to believe this," Cundy groused, reeling back into the cupboard that was their office.

"Him again?"

Cundy oozed into one of the only standing chairs, flopping and limp. He was still drooped there when the door squeaked open again and a slurry puddle squelched in, one solitary eyeball bobbing in it.

"Teric??"

"Bloody hell." Primo rubbed his face. "I think we need to speak to management about this."

__________________________________

Primo opened his eyes.

A familiar face looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.

Despite his intention to make the human stay mute for the rest of his life, a nice, subtle, annoying possession, Primo groaned, "ah fuck."

It was the first thing the human had said in months. It was also the last thing Primo said for three weeks, until his mouth grew back.

_____________________

"D'you see this?" Teric yelled, crashing into the office. He slapped down the Infernal Times on the desk, jabbing his finger at the face of the human they'd all come to know and dread. "Look at that."

Primo leaned in to peer at it. "Dead?"

"Any minute now!" Teric beamed. "They've had him nailed to a plank and stuck him up on a big stick for everyone to see for _hours_."

Cundy gave a wibbling sob of relief. "Thank someone for that!"

Primo tugged the paper closer, reading through the article. "Wait."

"Wait what? He's _done_." Teric did a little dance on the spot. "Someone must've pushed the right buttons with the people in charge up there and made sure it happened, while we were busy."

"We didn't do it."

There was a moment of confused silence.

"What?" Cundy and Teric inquired.

Primo looked up from the paper. "It was upstairs. They did it."

"They _never_!" Teric bolted around the desk to peer over his shoulder. "But he was doing all that good and smiting and everything!"

Primo jabbed the paragraph. "He got tempted by one of our lot, but nothing else to do with us."

"I don't get it."

Primo made a face. "You know Heaven are bastards. Maybe they thought he was doing a better job than them. I mean, how many times did he kick our arses in the last three years? Dozens of times!"

"And he-" Cundy turned, frowning. "Wassat?"

Teric waved a hand. "Screams of the damned."

"Nah." Cundy inched over to the door. "They don't normally sound quite so... demony." He shot a worried look over his shoulder. "That's our lot screaming. Not the humans."

Primo and Teric exchanged glances.

"Have a look," Primo ordered.

"Me??"

"You're the one by the door," Teric agreed, ducking behind Primo's chair.

Cundy whimpered, but opened the door a tiny crack, peeping out.

"What's going on?" Primo whispered as loudly as he dared. "What do you–"

Cundy closed the door, turning, his face grey. "S'him."

"Him who?"

Cundy pointed a shaking finger to the paper and the man on the cover. " _Him_."

For several seconds, none of them moved, then all of them moved grabbing the desk and hauling it over to the door of their cupboard and barricading it closed. They piled the chairs on top, then everything else that was lying around, and huddled together behind the barricade.

"What the hell is he doing down here?" Teric squeaked, clinging to Primo's arm. "He's not done shitty things! Why is he here? Has he come to find-"

Primo clamped a hand over his mouth, holding him tight until his neck went pop and he dissolved back into Primo. He shot a sideways look at Cundy in warning, but Cundy always was brighter than Teric and was distracting himself by biting his sleeve.

A tap at the door made them both whimper and clutch at one another.

"Are we finished, little legion?" That was him, and his terrifyingly calm voice.

"Y-yes?" Primo squeaked.

He sounded like he was smiling when he said, "Good."

And then it was all quiet and Primo wasn't ashamed to say he widdled himself in relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who aren't familiar with Jesus and his shenanigans, according to some - not all - Christian theology, Jesus descended into Hell after death (because he died bearing all the sins of humanity) and basically cause chaos downstairs for the three days he was dead. I thought it would be funny if all the demons who had been cast out did not know this was about to happen :D


	44. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt this week: Movies and their reactions to them

"And I was at this festival, quite the thing."

Aziraphale jumped as Crowley slouched into the seat opposite him. "Where on earth did you come from?"

Crowley made a face. "The festival, obviously? Weren't you listening?"

"No!" Aziraphale huffed, slathering some butter on on his crumpet. "I certainly was not."

"Anyway." Crowley lolled back against the wall. "Festival. And you'll never guess what I saw."

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

The demon tilted his glasses down and met Aziraphale's eyes. "A little something called 'The Book Thief'."

Aziraphale choked on his crumpet. Coughing, he thumped his chest. "Isn't that a novel?" he asked weakly.

Crowley's face split in a grin. "I think we both know that's not what I'm talking about." He sat up, propping one arm on the edge of the table, cupping his chin in his hand. "Black and white number. Intertitles. A dramatic chase scene. Catchy theme music."

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands. "Oh Lord."

"I think you mean 'How vexing, you hoodlum!'."

The angel cracked his fingers apart, glaring between them. He huffed and lowered his hands, retrieving his crumpet. "So you came all the way over here to laugh at me, did you?"

"Oh no." Crowley's grin grew even wider. "I brought you a present." He whipped out his phone and Aziraphale had spent enough time with him to know exactly what kind of nonsense might be stored on it.

"I have to go," he declared, shoving his chair back and snatching his napkin to dab at his mouth.

"Don't you want to see this?" Crowley was practically cackling. "I mean, I splashed out and spent a whole ten quid on it and everything." He unfurled from the seat, holding out the phone. "Look! You're even wearing the same outfit."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale moaned. "Look, you were asleep and I was bored! And it seemed like a lot of fun." He glanced at his tiny black and white self on the screen, stutteringly chasing a boy around the book shop, wielding a hefty tome. "I... I really should get back to the shop."

"Angel," Crowley's tone softened. "Was it fun?"

The ten days spent dashing about his shop, chasing a human assistant dressed as a burglar? Yes. The weeks afterwards, watching humans laughing and enjoying it had been even more so.

"Well, yes..."

Crowley considered him. "Run," he said. "Run back to your shop."

"What?"

"Trust me?"

Of course, without question.

Aziraphale turned and bustled off as briskly as he could. Behind him, he heard the snap of fingers, then the gurgling music of the Wurlitzer playing a dramatic little melody. A chase scene.

Aziraphale burst out laughing, though a discord made him glance back to see Crowley giving chase.

He picked up speed, barely able to keep from chuckling as a poster on a wall morphed into white text on black that read [Soon, I will have you, bookkeeper]. He snapped his own fingers to change them on Crowley's behalf [Begone, fiend! You shall not catch me!]

Crowley's crack of laughter broke across the crowd.

They weren't too far from the shop, but for his own amusement, Aziraphale led him on a merry goose chase, accompanied all the while by jaunty music that turned more and more sinister the closer Crowley got.

The music increased in pace and intensity as they neared the bookshop and Aziraphale whirled to see Crowley nearing. Another snap of his fingers changed a newspaper billboard at the newsagents across the road. [Aha! Too late!]

He turned to fumble the door and heard another snap, closer now.

His opening hours sign bled into [No, angel. Right on time].

And Crowley – with a jarring sinister discord – plastered himself across Aziraphale's back. "Gotcha."

Aziraphale tilted his head to look back at him, amused. "I never did talkies, dear boy."

"Well then," Crowley retorted, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's middle. "You'll just have to find some way to shut me up, won't you?"

As the strings soared to a romantic crescendo, Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss. "Are you going to stop that?"

Crowley grinned, nudging the tips of their noses together. "Want me to?"

Aziraphale considered him as he pulled him into the shop. "It can stay on one condition."

"Mm?" Crowley hummed into his mouth.

"Mm." Aziraphale leaned back, tapping him firmly on the chest. "No pornographic music."

From the look on Crowley's face, he had not thought of it and was now seriously regretting it. "You're no fun, angel."

Aziraphale shut and locked the door, then snapped his fingers. The world shuttered to black and white again and with no effort at all, he swung the startled demon up in his arms. Across the blind on the back of the door, he made white letters dance on black.

[I shall ravish you now, delectable maiden]

Crowley's dramatic swoon was completely contradicted by his silent shaking laughter, as Aziraphale swept him off towards the back room.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Warlock Blocked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294922) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)
  * [[Podfic] Bird Brained](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232361) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)
  * [[Podfic] Refresher Training](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750569) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)
  * [[Podfic] The Grand Tour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338441) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan), [LenaReads (LenaLawlipop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaReads)




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